Not the Hero Type
by significationary
Summary: *ON HIATUS* After yet another fight, Harry and Draco are given an unusual punishment by Dumbledore, where they must work together to survive. Obviously, this is a problem. Set after GoF, before HbP. Hermione/Harry, eventual Draco/Ginny
1. Chapter 1

_Odio et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior._

I love and I hate. You ask me why this is so. I do not know, but I feel it, and it torments me.

"Did your mum pick out your clothes, Potter?" a voice drawled from across the dungeon. Harry looked to see Draco Malfoy sneering at him from across the room. Naturally, he'd taken advantage of Snape's momentary absence to mock his favorite nemesis. "Oh, wait. I forgot you don't have one."

Despite himself, Harry felt himself flushing. Somehow, Draco knew the exact right things to say to get under his skin, no matter how he tried to stay cool.

Hermione tugged on the back of his robe. "Harry, ignore him," she said briskly. "He's just a childish jerk."

Harry gave her a look, but couldn't do more before Ron chimed in. "Yeah, Harry, he's an arrogant pureblooded freak. His family is all ... inbred." Ron shuddered.

Harry tilted his head curiously. "Ron, you do realize you're a pureblood, too."

Draco's smooth, confident voice cut through their conversation. "Good thing his little friends are calming him down for us," he said loudly to the Slytherins gathered around him. "Or he might lose control. We could end up like Longbottom over there - a blathering idiot." The Slytherins snickered. Neville blushed.

Harry sat very still, the tips of his ears slowly turning red. Harry saw Ron glance backward at Hermione, ready to act on her expression. Apparently, she wasn't too worried, because Ron stayed seated. For now.

"What self-control," Draco observed blandly, watching carefully from his vantage point across the room. "How very impressive. Lucky for us. I'm sure he could easily knock us all off with one blow, if he really wanted. We could die." He looked around theatrically. "Our very lives are in danger." He splayed a long hand dramatically over his heart.

For some reason, this mocking awe was almost worse than the insults about his friends and family. Still, Harry stayed motionless in his seat, aimlessly doodling on his graded Potions essay without really knowing what he was doing. He saw Ron watching him with alarm, but said nothing.

"Harry, don't respond," Hermione whispered, shooting a venomous glare at the blonde-haired boy. "Please, stay composed. Remember what Dumbledore said - one more problem, and you'll be in serious trouble."

"I know, Hermione," Harry said in a careful voice.

"Hey, Potter," Draco raised his voice so it carried throughout the whole room. "Are you still keeping your cool? Or are you ready to send me the way your parents went?"

Harry said nothing.

Draco waited a beat, then continued. "You know, the ones that are DEAD. Knocked off. Finished. Gone. For good. Undeniably, indisputably, irrevocably, stone. Cold. Dead."

That finally sent Harry over the edge. Vaguely, he saw Ron back up so he was no longer blocking the path between Harry and Draco. Simultaneously, he saw Hermione out of the corner of his eye, leaning forward, trying to grab Harry's arm. "Don't do anything rash," she began to say, but was cut off mid syllable, as Harry flew out of his seat. It was almost inhuman the way he darted across the stone floor and tackled Draco out of his seat. Immediately, and with no hesitation, he punched Draco in the face - once, twice, three times, and then Draco rolled away, knocking over his stool. But Harry persisted, pinning down one of Draco's arms and driving a knee into his gut.

Draco winced, breathing in sharply, and glanced around for some support from his House. But, to no one's surprise, every Slytherin had backed up, forming a semicircle around the pair. Rolling his eyes, Draco swung his weight around and slammed an expensive Italian loafer into Harry's side. Harry screwed his face up in pain, but didn't quit. Determinedly, he dug his elbow into Malfoy's stomach, pushing with all the weight of his body behind it, which left Draco gasping for breath. But Harry didn't stop there. He followed up by throwing himself on top of the other boy and punching him in the side of the head. Draco tried to pull himself out from under Harry, but he was pinned, completely.

It was then that Snape chose to walk in. He stared at the fighting boys in horror for a second before hissing, "Filipendo." Harry and Draco flew apart from each other, like they were pulled by invisible hands, and crashed to the floor ten feet apart. The color slowly returned to Harry's face as he realized what he had just done. The whole classroom was silent in shock. Even Hermione didn't speak, her hands over her mouth in despair. Harry thought he even saw tears in her eyes. Malfoy, however, sat calmly on the floor, wiping the blood from his lips and under his nose, dusting off his robes and somehow looking like he WANTED to be sitting there on the cold stone floor.

"Forty points from Gryffindor," Snape said gleefully, his greasy black hair swinging back and forth as he glided across the dungeon towards Harry. He looked astonishingly like a vengeful bat as he hauled Harry up to his feet. "Out in the hall, now. Both of you," he specified with a meaningful look at Draco. "I shall escort you to Dumbledore's office at once. As for the rest of you, finish mixing a proper Fantasy Elixir." And with that, he swept out of the room, Draco and Harry in tow.

Harry wrenched his arm free from Snape's pincer-like grasp. He knew the way to Dumbledore's office without Snape's help. He'd certainly been there enough times. Similarly, Draco stiffened, but he didn't pull away. Harry snuck glances at Draco when he could without being seen, and felt the tiniest twinge of regret when he saw Draco's blooming black eye, bleeding nose, and bloody lip. He noticed how he was walking with a limp, and thought that maybe he should've held back, just a little bit. Then he caught Draco looking at him with his usual sneer - which looked worse since his face was bloody - and all of his scruples dissolved. He glared right back, and then looked resolutely forward.

"How you continue to cross every boundary placed in your way is a mystery, Potter," Snape said tersely. "And you, Mr. Malfoy. You need to rise above, Draco. Stop responding to Potter's petty insults."

Harry made a noise of strangled anger. "But ... he was the one who insulted ME," Harry began to protest, but Snape cut him off.

"Mr. Potter. Don't spread your libelous lies any further," Snape ordered. "We are not interested in hearing the latest piece of propaganda you've constructed."

Furious, Harry remained quiet, but just barely. Luckily, they were soon at Dumbledore's office. "Ice Mice," Snape said with great dignity, and the doors slid open.

"I must admit, Harry, I am rather impressed with your ability to end up in my office several times a week. One would almost think you were trying," Dumbledore said, with a gleam in his eye. Harry remained stoic in his chair. Draco suspected he wanted to say something, but was restraining himself because Draco was there, and he reveled in the power, for a brief second.

Dumbledore seemed content to not say anything for the time being, and regarded the two boys. The intensity of his stare made Draco feel oddly self-conscious, a rare occurrence. So he took the moment to look at the scene, study the moment, assess it, as his father had taught him. Granted, his father meant him to use these observations to dominate those around him. But that didn't matter. Draco told himself - firmly - that it was practice, and continued to assess.

There they were, Harry and himself, probably as close to opposites as there was in the world. Fair and dark, good and evil, and all of those other cliched 'opposite' lines. Whatever. And there was Dumbledore, sitting there, evaluating, judging them with his eyes. Draco felt him observe Harry's painful, shallow breaths, his cheekbone splattered with developing bruises. Then the blue eyes turned on him, seeing the black eye, the bloody nose and lip, his carefully straight back and blank expression. And Draco noticed something a bit odd. He looked at both boys the same way, with the same amount of dry amusement and understated sympathy, disregarding the fact that one boy was a national hero, and the other was most likely trying to kill him. He didn't seem to care that Draco's father was a recognized Death Eater, or that Harry had saved the world a half dozen times.

Dumbledore had to be losing it, Draco decided, if he couldn't realize the drastic differences between the two of them. So, he pasted on his condescending and patronizing look, and prepared to be talked at. The look was convenient in that it also hid the burning hatred for Harry that he held in the pit of his stomach. The hatred that had made him goad Harry into a fight, just so he could be justified when he hit him. He kept it hidden under a series of masks, but that didn't make it any less real - on the contrary. There was nothing in the world he hated more than an obnoxious hero. But it wasn't the time to think about Harry. It was the time to act innocent, attacked, and possibly even a bit scared. Not too difficult.

"You were there when I promised Professor Snape that if he caught you in one more scuffle, he could keep you sorting animal intestines for two months," Dumbledore said almost cheerfully. "And yet, here you are. Fighting. I'm curious, is there any reasoning behind your actions, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth, shut it, then burst out, "He mentioned my mother."

"How strangely typical," Dumbledore chuckled. "So let me see if I follow. He mentioned dearest Lily, and you leaped out of your chair and attempted to end his time on this earth?"

"Something like that," Harry mumbled.

Draco couldn't resist a dig. "Don't be so modest, Potter," he sighed, trying to ignore the coppery blood coating the back of his throat. "It was at least five minutes after that. Don't you remember? I complimented you. THEN you hit me. He just can't take a compliment," he finished in a conspiratorial tone to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's face remained impressively neutral. "Well, Harry? Is Draco correct?"

Harry seemed to be struggling with himself. "In a way, Professor," he said at last. "I ... I don't want to sound childish, but ... he wasn't complementing me. I mean, his words might've been, but the WAY he said it ... I sound like such an idiot, but he was ... he was making fun of me." Harry buried his bloody face into his bloodier hands. "I'm sorry. I'll stop talking now."

Draco smirked. Just as he had intended it, Harry had no defense.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore saw the smirk, and interpreted it correctly, in that annoying way he had. "Draco, I'm afraid you don't realize the gravity of the situation. If I were to believe Harry, by some ... miracle, then you would be in very serious trouble indeed."

Draco felt some energy draining out of his smirk as he realized what the Headmaster was saying. "I realize this," he answered respectfully, as his father had taught him.

"Very good." Dumbledore nodded once, pushing his chair back and folding his hands over his stomach. "Then I shan't feel bad about informing you that I DO, in fact, believe Harry. He has proven himself trustworthy on numerous occasions, wouldn't you agree?" It was a rhetorical question. Draco didn't answer. "So, taking into consideration the fact that you provoked Harry into attacking you, for reasons known only to you, I'm sure, I am deducting forty points from Slytherin, as well. You will also be joining Harry in detention."

Draco couldn't help it - he smirked again. Snape favored him - he wouldn't have to do a thing.

However, again, Dumbledore saw it. "The detention will not be served with Professor Snape," he said regretfully, strolling around the perimeter of the office. "I think a different punishment is in order for the pair of you." He stopped at a small chest of drawers and was busy for a moment. Then, he turned, holding two flasks of brownish potion. "I'm sure you both recognize this," he said jovially.

Draco did - Polyjuice potion. A quick glance at Potter confirmed it - Harry looked like someone had asked him to swallow a live snake. But, resignedly, Harry took a flask, tugged at his hair, and dropped three loose hairs into the potion. Immediately, it transformed into a bright gold, almost glowing with warmth. Listlessly, Harry handed it to Draco, and Draco noticed how careful he was that their hands didn't touch.

Draco balanced Harry's potion on his leg while he yanked out a few silvery blonde strands of his own. His potion turned a deep, cool silver that seemed to take in more light than it gave off. He handed it to Harry. "Bottoms up, Potter," he said casually, and downed the whole thing in one gulp.

"May I inquire as to the taste?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

Harry swallowed hard. "Wine, I think. But sharper." His face began to get blurry and distorted.

"Caramel," Draco said with disgust. At least it didn't stick to his teeth, he thought grudgingly, as his blood flashed hot as liquid fire, and his features began to ripple and melt.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said, in a tone that conveyed absolutely no fascination, watching the transformations. It certainly wasn't exactly a shocking transformation. It seemed the two boys had only switched places in their chairs, though the potion did have the interesting effect of healing their battle wounds. Admittedly, it was strange to see Harry's body sprawled out in the casual grace Draco had, and for Draco's face to be so transparent. That's what was strange for Draco, at least. He was used to his face staring out at him from mirrors blankly, not looking at him from across the room in surprise and anger.

Draco ran his hand through his new unruly black hair, squirmed in his new oddly fitting clothes - even though he and Harry were the same general size, somehow the clothes fit him different. "Potter, glasses," he said in a bored voice. Grudgingly, Harry tossed them to him, and Draco adjusted them on his nose. "How do I look? Because I know I FEEL like a prat."

Draco watched his face scowl at him, but Harry said nothing.

"Wonderful, Draco. I can tell this is going to go fabulously," Dumbledore said happily. "Now. The two of you will live each others lives. For two hours every night, you will meet in the Room of Requirement before returning to your dormitories."

"For how long?" Harry asked morosely.

"Pardon me?"

"How long will I be Malfoy?" Harry spat.

"Excuse me, but I do believe the real question is how long will I be the idiot known universally as Harry Potter?" Draco cut in.

Dumbledore regarded the pair of them. "Splendid. This will be splendid." He seemed to be in a reverie.

"Sir? How long?" Potter asked again.

"Oh. Well, I'm afraid that depends on you."

"Both of us?" Draco asked despairingly.

"Quite. Once you have reached an understanding of each other, once the hatred you've nurtured for years is gone. Only then can you switch back." And with that, Dumbledore strolled out the door.

"Bloody hell," Harry said with feeling. I'm never going to get back."

"At least you got Polyjuiced into an upgrade," Draco sniped. "I have taken a definite downgrade. And I'll probably be forced to be you forever. Maybe I should shave my head," he said thoughtfully, tugging at a lock of black hair.

"NO," Harry said firmly. "Or I swear, I'll die your hair purple."

Draco looked horrified. "Can't I even trim it?" he asked plaintively. "It's so ... messy."

"It's FINE. Let's go." Draco winced as his body lurched up with none of his customary grace, and stood up.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked. Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly and Draco sighed. "We need to switch clothes, Potter. Imagine the heartache if Draco Malfoy was seen walking in wearing Gryffindor colors, which make me look deathly pale, don't you agree? Though you should wear green more often," he said, looking down at himself. "It brings out your eyes."

"Yeah, THAT doesn't sound weird at all," Harry scowled. "Stop hitting on me, Malfoy. We can just switch robes and ties." He began to loosen his red and gold tie.

"Never!" Draco declared obstinately. "Everything." He considered. "Except underwear."

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically.

For the first time, Draco saw an expression he recognized as his own on his face. With a victorious air, he began to pull off his clothes, frowning at the somewhat shorter fingers he had now. To his disappointment, Harry's boxers were nothing embarrassing. just blue plaid, though his socks were a surprisingly dismal shade of grey.

"Wow, Malfoy. Spending big money on everything, aren't you?" Draco looked up to see Harry looking at his emerald green silk boxers in bemusement.

"At least I HAVE big money," Draco retorted, pulling on Harry's pants. "Now that my dashing good looks are gone, money – and my legendary charm, of course – are all I have left going for me."

"No, you're the Chosen One now," Harry pointed out.

"Lovely," Draco muttered. "I'm a hero. That's just grand."


	2. Chapter 2

Harry frowned as he got dressed. For a second, Draco had been almost friendly towards him. Definitely not hostile, at least. But then, there he went again with the hatred. "Y'know, Malfoy, money isn't everything," he finally said, putting on Draco's expensive shoes, and noticing how scuffed they were.

"Oh, like you'd know. That's what all poor people say," Draco scoffed, straightening his robes.

"I'm not poor," Harry argued.

"Muggle money doesn't count," Draco said haughtily. "Do you have Galleons of any significant amount?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Yeah? How much. One hundred? Two? I'm afraid I'm not very impressed," Draco said condescendingly.

"More than that. Much more." Harry stopped short of giving any details. Privately, he realized how strange it was hearing his own voice fighting with him, seeing his own eyes staring him down. But he continued to glare at the boy who looked just like him, and yet nothing like him.

"Oh yeah?" Draco sounded curious. "How much more?"

"I'm not telling YOU, you'll just report it back to darling Daddy, won't you? I'm sure Voldemort would love an exact figure," Harry shot back.

Harry saw Draco's eyes flash in fear at the Dark Lord's name. Apparently, he hadn't learned to control his expression as well as he could in his own body. "If the Dark Lord wanted to know about your finances, I assure you, he would," he said coolly, pulling the Gryffindor robes about him with a snap. "Now excuse me. I wouldn't want to be late to my favorite class. Or should I say, least favorite, if I'm supposed you be you." Somehow, even that seemingly innocent statement was loaded with venom.

Harry paused, Draco's tie dangling from his hand. "Why?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Why do you hate me? What have I ever done to you?"

Draco actually stopped, and turned back to look at him. His face was blank and emotionless in a way Harry's never had been before. "If you really don't know, then that's exactly why." And he walked out.

Draco strolled down the hall, getting used to the feel of his new body. Harry was much more relaxed, it seemed, which was strange. Draco was used to being tense, ready for anything at any time, be it Harry Potter or his father.

Someone who knew Harry well - Hermione, perhaps - might've noticed how curiously blank his face was. Harry was an open book, hiding nothing from the world. His face was never blank. But Draco's was often, especially when he was thinking. And he was thinking - oh, was he thinking. Why had reacted how he had when Harry asked him that stupid, stupid question? It's not like Harry had never asked that before. He'd just never answered before. A smug smirk, abrupt spin around, and a strut away had usually done the trick. But the answer he gave today, was shockingly honest. Especially for him.

He did hate Harry, utterly and completely, let there be no confusion on that. But it wasn't often that he took time to sit there and think about it. His hatred of Harry was just something that was, that had always been, and would probably always would be. There wasn't anymore to it – at least, no more that he'd admit to. And it would never change. So he didn't know what Dumbledore expected to come of this Polyjuice idiocy. Understanding, probably, knowing how the old codger thought, but that would never happen. Sighing inwardly, Draco - Harry, he reminded himself. He was Harry now - resigned himself to being a Gryffindor forever, and entered the dungeon.

Snape stared down his long nose at him, which shocked Draco for a second until he realized that he wasn't Draco, Snape's pet student. He was Harry, Snape's favorite least-favorite student. "Back so soon, Mr. Potter?" he said with barely contained hatred.

"Yes, sir, Dumbledore told me to come back." Safe, neutral, and slightly disdainful. Draco was always very good at impressions.

"Very well. Take your seat." Snape sounded vaguely disappointed, but it was hard to tell.

Draco took a step towards his old seat before he caught himself and sat next to Ron. That could've been hard to explain.

"Hey, Harry, what'd Dumbledore give you?" Ron whispered at the first possible moment. "He let you off easy, right?"

Draco could've thrown up. There they were, the Golden Trio, hiding behind Dumbledore's robes. Again. But he made himself try to look normal. Not that he knew what normal was for Harry, but he took a good guess, and smiled faintly. "Detention every night," he said, like it was no big deal.

"Well, what about Malfoy, then?" Hermione asked in a low voice from behind.

Ron scoffed. "He probably got off with nothing, as usual. Wanker."

"Dumbledore's fair," Hermione chastised, then checked. "Right, Harry?"

Draco struggled to not hit one of them. "I dunno. Who cares about him anyways?" he said. "He's just a good-looking twat."

But Ron gave him a strange look. "You. You're the one always saying that we should try to be nice to him. You and Hermione. Well, alright, everyone but me," he admitted.

Draco was surprised. "Oh, right," he said, trying to recover. "Detention too, I think."

Snape shot a particularly nasty glare at them, and Weasley fell silent for about three seconds. "Why'd you fight that idiot, anyways?" he hissed.

"He insulted us. All of us. What was I supposed to do?" Draco asked indignantly.

"You are supposed to be the bigger person and let him be as childish as he wanted until he gave up," Hermione whispered furiously. "Come on, Harry, don't be foolish."

Draco was taken aback. "Oh, um, right. I forgot." Forgot about that ridiculous Gryffindor sense of chivalry, that is. Harry really was the epitome of a Gryffindor, the perfect hero in every way. But Ron was giving him a strange look, so Draco stopped talking and took a few notes. That just made the ginger boy stare at him more.

Somehow, Draco got the sense he wasn't very good at being Harry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Now that the story's underway, I have a few comments. I waited until now because I always hate reading notes before I've actually decided whether or not I like the story, but the more that I think about it, that's probably a thing that only bothers me. Whatever. If it bothers you, let me know in a review. Otherwise, I'll assume I'm a freak.**

** Anyways. I read the Draco Trilogy a while ago, and while the blatant plagiarism and sometimes sketchy plot (not to mention the horribly out of character characters, ridiculous new magical powers, and overwhelming ANGST), I liked the idea of the switch (and apparently, so did Scarlettfire37!). This is my attempt to stay more in character and stick to the original universe as best as I can. Any feedback is appreciated. If you flame, I will laugh, then troll. Fair warning. **

** Disclaimer: I never have and never will own any part of Harry Potter. Not even a lock of Draco's bleached-blonde hair. (Really, Tom? You're gonna have dark brown roots in probably the biggest movie series of your life? If you're gonna dye it, put some effort into it. Just saying.)**

** DFTBA!**

Harry put on his best affected swagger as he waltzed down the halls. He couldn't help but feel like an idiot, even though he knew no one would recognize him. How did Malfoy do it? A little entitlement, a little arrogance, and a lot of grace. Somehow, Harry doubted he'd be good at it. He'd be found out the second he walked through the door, he was sure of it, but he entered the dungeon anyway. Just because he was in the body of a Slytherin didn't mean he had to be as cowardly as one. Harry looked as nonchalant as he could, though his heart was pounding.

"Sit down, Draco," Snape said stiffly, but with none of the hatred Harry was used to. Across the room, Draco looked up at the sound of his name, then realized his mistake. Harry remained composed, and sat in Draco's chair, right between Crabbe and Goyle. It was all he could do not to shudder, but instead he kept a condescending look on his face and assumed a languid pose. He couldn't stop himself, though, from glancing to where Draco sat – only he wasn't Draco, not to anyone but Harry. He was Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. Their eyes met, and in a brief moment they agreed on a truce to survive the day.

Harry had to try his best not to fidget during class - fidgeting seemed to be something that a Malfoy wouldn't do, no matter what the circumstances - but he sprung up from his chair the instant the bell rang. He followed Ron, Hermione, and Draco, watched Draco convince them he'd meet them in the Common Room, and followed Draco into an empty classroom, all without a single fan girl approaching him. For the first time, he considered the fact that there may be advantages to not being himself.

"I do hope you know the meaning of the word subtlety," he heard his own voice drawl lazily. Draco was sitting on a desk, legs swinging jauntily, and somehow managing to make Harry's face look far more condescending than it ever had before. "Because of you, the whole school will know about our predicament before the night is out."

"No, they probably wouldn't believe it," Harry said, too disconcerted to retort properly.

"You're right. The rumor, before long, would become a tale of our blossoming love affair. You might as well get used to it, Potter. How does it feel to love someone so far beyond your intellectual level? What was it that attracted you to me? Was it my charmingly curly hair? My green eyes? My impressive physique?"

Harry found it rather impressive how effortlessly Draco had modified his insults to match his new body. "No, I'd have to say it was your impeccable sense of humor," Harry informed him solemnly.

"Ah, yes. The good ol' charm always works wonders," Draco said sarcastically, suddenly becoming bitter again.

"So I assume you had me follow you here for a reason," Harry hinted.

"Brilliant, Potter. There's that Gryffindor genius I'm always hearing about - oh wait, I'm not."

"One word, Malfoy: Hermione," Harry smirked.

Draco looked mildly surprised. "Touché."

"Your point?" Harry hinted.

"Thank you for that kind reminder, Potter, delivered with all the finesse and delicacy of a blunt axe." Draco took his time adjusting his tie until it was perfectly centered. "If I'm going to be you, I'll need to know how to interact with the ginger and the mudblood."

Harry waited, arms crossed, but Draco said nothing more. "That's your idea of asking me for something?" Harry finally said.

"No, that's my idea of telling you what's going to happen. I'm saying this out of necessity, Potter, not because I want to give the most accurate portrayal that I can. How you constantly find new ways to flatter yourself astounds me," Draco commented with disdain.

"Ever heard of politeness and decency?" Harry demands.

"Ever heard of 'answer this question before I kill you' and 'no really, I will'?" Draco fires back.

Moments like this were what reminded Harry why he and Draco could never cooperate. Even now, it seemed things wouldn't change. Harry was convinced – they were doomed.

Even in Draco's own wildly attractive body, Harry was absolutely insufferable. The way he crossed his arms and glared looked absolutely priggish. Draco was sure he'd never looked that ridiculous in his body. "Unless you want to explain why you, the Chosen One, killed Lucius Malfoy's only son, and then survive the consequences, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Harry said smugly.

Draco fervently wished he could strangle the other boy with his own hands, right here and now. Unfortunately, he had to settle for a hard stare and cutting remark. "I'm sure I'd come up with something, since I, the Chosen One, now have a brain larger than a peanut." Harry looked dismayed, and Draco smiled broadly. "I could keep this up all afternoon, but I'd much prefer to get back to my heroic business. So the answer, if you don't mind terribly."

"I don't know, just don't be you. They generally like everyone," Harry said, somewhat helplessly.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you don't know how to be friends with your friends?" Draco said dubiously.

"I don't sit around thinking about it, like a complete twat, if that's what you're asking."

Draco resisted the urge to comment on how Harry's being a twat was completely independent from whatever he did, and merely said, "Then you're no help at all." He sighed in frustration. "Can you at least tell me some conversation starters or something?"

"Fine. Then you give me some, too," Harry said after a second.

"Easily," Draco said with evident gusto. "World domination, the impending genocide of Mudbloods, and the Dark Lord. Those are the big three. Throw in a couple hateful remarks about Gryffindors and a few threats of violence and you should be set. Now, for me?"

Harry looked at him with deep distrust, but said, "Well, we talk about Quidditch, and classes. Sometimes Death Eaters and Dementors bother us, and we talk about that for a while. I don't know, it really depends."

"How helpfully vague," Draco shook his head. Really, for being such a big public figure, the more Draco got to know Harry, the more he began to suspect Harry's life was immensely mundane. "Then again, I suppose it's not like I'm going to be ad libbing Hamlet. I'll come up with something. Thanks for nothing." He swung down onto the floor and began to make his way towards the door.

Harry stopped him. "Were you being serious, about world domination and such?" he asks, peering at Draco with his own silver eyes.

Draco regarded him coolly, trying to make his eyes hard, but not quite achieving it as well as he could in his own body. "Of course."

"That's it? That's all you talk about?" Harry persisted, frowning.

"Potter, although I realize you're incredibly dense, I thought you at least knew the difference between yes and no," Draco said, exasperated. "That is the vast majority of what we talk about, yes. Any more idiotic questions?"

"Just one. Did you have to try for such an obnoxious personality, or were you born with it."

"In that vein of questioning, do heroes have to work on being overheated bags of gas, or does that come with the territory?" Draco asked, relishing the look on Potter's face – or rather his face. Blast, this was getting confusing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have loads of adoring fans to tend to, and all that nonsense," Draco said briskly, pushing past Harry. "I'll see you tonight. Room of Requirement. Don't be late." With great regret, Draco realized he didn't know where that particular room was. Reluctantly, he turned and asked, "Where exactly is the Room of Requirement?"

Harry grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Potter, I don't have time for your ridiculous games," Draco sighed through his nose. "Just tell me."

"Say please."

"Please," Draco said with great dignity.

Harry laughed outright. "Seventh floor corridor, across from the tapestry with dancing trolls. Seven o'clock?"

"Indeed." Finally, Draco was able to sweep out of the room, although it didn't look as impressive as it would've had he not needed to stop so many times. Only when he was two corridors away did he realize he had no idea what classes Harry was in, nor what he did with his time outside of class. Inwardly, Draco cursed. This was definitely too harsh a punishment for getting in one simple fight. His father would definitely be hearing about this. Except his father would sooner kill him than listen to his complaint, seeing as how Draco looked like Lord Voldemort's number one target.

The longer this situation continued, the more ridiculously infuriating it became.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: So apparently, I'm not the only one bothered by author's notes before a story. Good to know there's at least two of us. **

** Sorry for the exposition dump at the beginning of this chapter. It's clumsy, I know, but I'm not about to document an afternoon's worth of conversations and classes between Harry and the Slytherins. Also, since Draco isn't given much of a backstory and/or in depth characterization, I'm having to guess at his personality. As is pretty obvious, I've chosen a combination of Deadpan Snarker and Emotional Compartmentalizer. **

**Like I said before, the Draco Trilogy is what sparked this, and if you're familiar with it, you may notice some similarities between that Draco and mine. These similarities are _not_ me stealing ideas, but rather, me trying to put my own spin on a character that tends to be characterized in a few ways. Again, all constructive criticism welcomed, even if it's harsh. **

Harry realized halfway through eating lunch with Crabbe and Goyle that he didn't know a thing about Draco's classes, aside from the ones they had together. He supposed they'd discuss that at their mandatory meeting tonight. Until then, he decided to follow Crabbe and Goyle. It was well-known that the three of them had every class together, thanks to some meddling from Malfoy's father. In this manner, he managed not to give himself away that way.

It was, however, difficult to convincingly talk as Draco. Harry soon discovered he wasn't lying about the conversation topics of Slytherins: whenever the two oafish boys weren't insulting the heritage of the other houses, they were gleefully fantasizing about their demise once Lord Voldemort took over. Harry engaged in these conversations as best he could, but he never quite achieved the level of dedicated hatred Draco was famous for. That was easily overlooked, though, since Draco's sidekicks were never revered for their intelligence.

One perk of being Draco was that he was allowed in another house's common room. The Slytherin dungeons were widely speculated about, but no one outside of the house had ever seen them, and no one in the house would supply any information. Harry got to see, firsthand, the greenish lights hovering halfway between the damp stone floors and cavernous ceiling, uncomfortable chairs, and forbidding-looking portraits of previous house leaders. The room was the polar opposite of Gryffindor's, which made sense, but Harry definitely didn't enjoy spending time there. Luckily, he didn't have to endure much – Draco's classes and then dinner in the Great Hall took up the majority of his time before the meeting in the Room of Requirement. Shortly before eight, Harry made an excuse about detention and slipped away.

It was so nice to actually be able to slip away without dozens of eyes following him, he marveled as he climbed several flights of stairs to reach the seventh-floor corridor. No one but Slytherins revered Malfoy, so no one cared where he went. Pulling his hood over his head, Harry walked through the corridors silently until he saw the telltale tapestry on the wall. Standing in front of it was another hooded figure. Tentatively, Harry whispered, "Malfoy?"

"I'm quite aware of your presence, Potter," Harry's own voice said disdainfully. "Can't a man admire a well-woven tapestry once in a while?" He didn't wait for Harry's answer. "And since you clearly told me the exact wrong location, why in the world would you come here too? You've really got to work on being a wanker."

"I didn't tell you the wrong location, Malfoy. The room only appears when you need it," Harry explained patiently.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm being serious," Harry insisted. "If you need it, it appears as whatever it has to. Dumbledore's the one who told me about it."

"Of course he did. So how does one enter this Room of Requirement?" Draco inquired. "Shall we preform some ritualistic chants, or will a blood sacrifice be enough? I must confess, I left my lute back at home, but I'm sure Father will mail it to me, if you want to wait."

There was no avoiding it: Harry would have to be the bigger person. "Walk by this wall three times, thinking of what you really need. We should probably agree on something," Harry said grudgingly. The very thought of attempting to agree with Malfoy on something made him feel slightly queasy.

Draco turned to Harry, looking similarly pained. "What do you suggest?"

"We need somewhere where we can try to get along," Harry finally said. "If we're ever going to be ourselves again, we'll have to do at least that much."

"Fine."

Side-by-side, the two of them paced the hall thrice. The fourth time they passed the blank stretch of wall, it was no longer empty. A set of double doors stood, looking like they were there all along. Draco seemed hesitant, so Harry opened one side of the door and walked in. The room was, as always, completely different than the last time he saw it. One wall was deep red, the opposite dark green, and the adjoining walls a neutral golden brown.

Immediately, Harry knew the red wall marked his side of the room –the wall was covered with Quidditch posters, as well as posters for a few Muggle sports teams. A squishy comfortable chair, and jars of candy on a low bookshelf completed the area, making it perfectly designed to be comfortable for him. He threw himself down into the chair, sinking deep into its plush cushions, and pulled a Chocolate Frog out of one of the jars. He still had little hope for their cooperation, but, he reasoned, at least he was getting free candy out of the deal.

Draco surveyed the room with interest. Apparently, some kind of intelligence dwelled within the room that was able to determine what each of them liked, and somehow determined this was the ideal set up to foster their getting along. How extremely curious. This room definitely had potential he would need to explore later.

Of course, the room's intelligence left no guarantee that the decorations would be in good taste. Harry's side was disgustingly mundane, but naturally, Draco's had class. Several large bookcases lined the walls, filled with books detailing all manners of dark magic. Instead of a tacky plush armchair, Draco had a dignified straight-backed desk chair, green leather with silver trim, in front of a mahogany desk.

Draco sat in his own chair and folded his hands on the desk. "Brilliant. Now what do we do?" he said, regarding Harry. Already, the boy in his body was stuffing his face with sweets. "Do try to eat in moderation, would you?" he commented. "I'd hate for people to think I put on weight. Terrible for the family image and all that."

Harry glared at him for a second and continued to eat. "I can't help it if your so-called 'friends' ate half my dinner," he said pointedly.

Draco had forgotten about that. He never minded, seeing as he didn't eat much anyways, but of course Harry would. Personally, Draco thought his second nickname should be The Boy Who Ate, seeing as he did almost as much of that as he did living. He almost gave himself away at supper when that Mudblood girl asked why he wasn't eating. "Sorry if that inconvenienced you," Draco answered rudely. "It's a wonder you survived. Now let's get something accomplished, shall we?"

"Okay. Like what?"

Draco made a mental note: Harry was much more agreeable when he had chocolate. "We should exchange class schedules," he said in a tone that was more command than suggestion. Calmly, he opened one of the desk drawers, and drew out a quill and piece of parchment, then began to write down his schedule in meticulously perfect script.

"Oh, right," Harry said, his mouth full. He extracted a crumpled scrap of parchment from Draco's pocket, and began to scribble on it with a bent quill of his own. For a moment, the room was silent as both boys wrote, then leaned forward and exchanged papers. Harry immediately stuffed Draco's beautifully written schedule into his pocket and forgot all about it, while Draco studied Harry's messy cursive.

"Are you sure you've written this in English?" he said, squinting.

"Pretty sure. Why, is it in Parseltongue?" Harry asked, genuinely concerned.

Draco scowled. "No. I was mocking you. So what exactly are we supposed to do here?" Dumbledore said they had to gain understanding. As if that would ever happen.

"I dunno. Stop hating each other, I guess. But I don't really see how that could happen, since you're such an arrogant prat," he said, glaring at Draco. But that didn't affect the other boy's serene expression at all. Draco felt rather powerful behind his desk – he rather liked it.

"Yes, it's difficult to stop despising someone who believes the world revolves around them," Draco responded acidly. "But of course, I'm the bigger idiot here."

"Well, if it were a contest, then yes, I'd say you are," Harry fired back. The two of them sat there, staring at each other, for a silent moment. "Maybe we shouldn't talk," Harry said.

"Worth a shot," Draco said, pulling a book of one of his shelves and cracking it open.

"Is that _Hogwarts,__A__History_?" Harry asked, tilting his head quizzically. It almost caused Draco physical pain to see his body being used in such a manner. He looked like a dog, for crying out loud.

"Yes," he responded haughtily. "Is that a problem?"

"So you've actually read part of it?" Harry continued to look perplexed.

"If by part, you mean all of it, three times, then yes. I have. And I don't see what the problem is." Resolutely, he turned back to the book and skimmed a few lines. But there was a question nagging at him that he finally can contain no longer. "Do you mean to say that you haven't?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "No. I've never gotten past the first page. You're the only person I know besides Hermione that's actually read it. Why would you do that?"

Draco didn't know how to answer that question. Everyone HE knew had read the entire thing at least once, except for Crabbe and Goyle, whom he suspected couldn't read much better than children in primary school. But surely, Harry could read, so why hadn't he?

Laziness, no doubt. Why read when he could get by on his special status alone? Harry's arrogance was simply unbelievable – yet another reason why Draco hated him. But for some reason, he couldn't just ignore him, even with _Hogwarts,__A__History_ there to read. Still, Draco was determined to try. After all, Malfoys never gave up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Just a warning, my updates will be a lot less frequent over the month of December. Between finals week and that whole "Christmas" thing, I've got a lot going on. I promise, though, I'll try to post a new chapter at least once a week. **

**Thanks for the reviews, guys, I appreciate the love. I realize this next chapter's a little awkward, but trust me, it'll be worth it later on. I'm setting the stage for a wonderful tale of angst, sarcasm, and possibly heart-warming understanding. Depends on the mood I'm in. **

Seriously? _Hogwarts,__A__History_? Harry couldn't imagine why anyone would voluntarily read that drivel, and Draco wasn't exactly forthcoming with an explanation. So Harry said, "Don't admit to that while you're me, or people will instantly know something's wrong."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, then said, "We're gonna be stuck like this forever, aren't we." He sounded resigned.

"Probably," Harry admitted. "We can pretend all we want, but we're not going to suddenly get along." It was beginning to occur to him exactly how long the rest of his life would be, and how terrible it would be to act like a Malfoy for at least seven more decades. "But I don't want to be you forever," he said out loud.

"This isn't exactly my favorite life, either," Draco replied in a patronizing tone. "But I'm not exactly seeing another option, here. We agreed that we'll never agree, so that's that."

"You do realize that you just contradicted yourself," Harry said after a moment.

"I did no such thing."

Harry gave up on trying to expose Malfoy to logic and reason, and said instead, "Well, I'm not going to give up. I need to be me, I can't be you."

"Why? Because I'm not a bloody national hero? Sorry my life isn't grand enough for you," Draco replied crossly. "There's only so many heroes allowed in the wizarding world, so my application was turned down. I'd have thrown off the ratio."

Harry glared at Draco, but the other boy only stared back coldly, refusing to crack. "No, because I can't be a terrible person," he said.

"Sure, Potter. Sure you can't. Granted, you're terrible at it, like everything else you do, but with a little work, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

"No, I mean legitimately, I can't," Harry insisted, realizing how ridiculous this sounds. "If something's really bad, like morally bad, I can't make myself do it. And I won't," he added.

"Why on earth not?" Draco seemed genuinely perplexed.

"It's called having a functioning moral compass, Malfoy. You should try it sometime," Harry fired back. "But whatever, don't believe me. My point is that we have to switch back, so we have to get along."

"Splendid. Now that you've decided on that, things will go swimmingly, I'm sure," Draco said sarcastically. "You can't just decide to get along, it's not exactly a choice."

"Well it has to be," Harry cuts him off, narrowing his eyes. "We have to."

Draco looks somewhat taken aback, and vaguely impressed with Harry. "Alright," he said. "So we'll get along. But what about these years of built-up bitterness and hatred? That doesn't just go away. What should we do about it?"

"Ignore it," Harry suggested.

"Brilliant strategy, Potter. I can see why you're the poster boy for the wizarding world – you're not much good at cunning plans," Draco said cuttingly.

"Okay, so you come up with something better."

"I very well may." Draco thought for a moment, then said, "Alright. We need to get out our aggression. Everything. Just say everything we despise about each other. I mean, not like we haven't before. You go first," he says, almost as a challenge.

Harry considered this. It felt like it could terribly backfire. On the other hand, he had to admit, it'd be kind of cathartic. Something about the idea was tempting. "Alright," he agreed. "Fine.

"I hate how you're so obsessed with blood. Why does it even matter? You have no honor, and no dignity just because you've got pure blood. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a Gryffindor, I'm saying that because it's true. Do you honestly think that you're better than everyone because of who your parents were? It's not like they're even particularly impressive people, either. Your father is a murderer and a coward, and your mother's a fool to put up with him. They're not worth even half of my parents, and yet you continually make fun of me? The world would be a better place without them – and without you, for that matter. It's bloody idiots like you that are going to tear the wizarding world apart. The world would be better off without you."

Draco waited after Harry ended his tirade, then said in a bored tone, "Is that the best you've got? No cutting personal attacks, or biting commentary on my sex life? Then I suppose it's my turn." He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and began. "You're an arrogant git, Potter. You think you're so important just because your mother killed herself so that you could live? You're lucky, and that's it. You have no special abilities. You have no uniquely chosen destiny. Don't fool yourself. You stumble onto great discoveries and completely waste them by lurking behind Dumbledore's robes. Even that Mudblood girl is better than you – she's the real hero in all of this, for sticking with someone as pathetic as you. It's a miracle you have any friends at all."

The things Draco said were all completely true but none of them got near to the heart of what Draco actually objected to. He stuck to the relatively superficial insults, so he wouldn't be tempted to express truth. Terrible things happened when he expressed the truth.

Still, though, Harry looked genuinely upset. "Oh, and you think your friends are better?" he lashes out. "They're mindless idiots. They're scared of you, they don't like you."

As if that would actually hurt Draco's feelings. "I know," he says smugly. "And that's exactly how I want it. Loyalty is pointless. Fear is a much stronger motivator."

"Right, since it worked so well for Voldemort," Harry scoffs.

Draco involuntarily flinched at the Dark Lord's name. Potter shouldn't have been throwing a name that powerful around like it's nothing. But he said nothing – the Chosen One's stupidity was none of his business. "As I recall, he nearly took over the world," he retorted, resting his ankle on his opposite knee.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. "Fine," he said after a second. "So I'm not special. But I've never claimed to be. All that 'Chosen One' stuff, that's not me, that's completely made up. Okay?"

As valid as that point may be, it didn't really matter. Draco still hated him. But he had a feeling that if he didn't pretend to like Harry more, the Boy who was Emotional wouldn't leave it alone. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "Fine. I still don't like you, though." Still, Harry looked like he was expecting something else. Right, he had to say something about Harry's supposedly biting remarks about him. "And I agree, my father is a coward, and a murderer, and a compulsive liar. Bet you didn't know that."

"What?" Harry seemed confused by Draco's abrupt change of heart. Good. If he was off-balance, then Draco could easily gain the advantage.

"He's a complete prat, I won't deny it. I mean, as long as we're being honest." Or, not being honest, whichever. It didn't hurt him at all to admit things about his father.

"Okay. Cool." Harry looked genuinely happy at this. Draco almost pitied him for being so laughably gullible. "So what are we going to do for the next hour and a half?"

"Why in the world would I know that?"

"Because you said you're the one with the cunning plans," Harry frowned.

He had a point. "Alright, I'll give it a shot. We'll sit here in silence, attempt to get along, then realize we have literally nothing in common, and-"

"That's not true," Harry interrupted.

"Oh, alright, then name some things we both enjoy," Draco challenged him.

"Quidditch," Harry said instantly.

Bloody hell. "Alright, name something else." Harry could not. "Exactly. Don't pretend we've just misunderstood each other all this time. No beautiful friendship is going to rise from the ashes of our hatred. Don't fool yourself." His voice is very cold, and he stares calmly at Harry. "I'll play nice enough to end this stupid spell, but that's as far as this is going to go."

For some unfathomable reason, Harry actually seems surprised by this statement, and Draco's exasperated with him all over again. He can't believe Harry was considering possibly doing what Dumbledore said, but then again, that was kind of Harry's thing, now that he thought about it, part and parcel of the whole savior of the world thing. Yet another thing that Draco's unable to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I feel guilty about this, but short chapter is better than no chapter. Math totally killed my artistic vision, and I now no longer know the difference between good and evil. In lieu of this, I have arbitrarily decided Draco should be the good guy, and that Harry Potter should be killed. Voldemort will rule the world, Dumbledore will be institutionalized, and still, nobody's sure about Snape, even now.**

**Kidding. What kind of story would that be?**

Much to Harry's annoyance, Draco's prediction proved to be almost exactly true. Although Harry attempted pleasant conversation a couple more times, Draco shot him down each time, and soon, they settled into a frustrated silence. Harry knew it would've been much smarter to exchange information about their habits, talents, likes and dislikes. Frankly, though, he couldn't make himself speak to him again. Draco was calmly staring at the wall above Harry's head, definitely ignoring him, which made Harry only more sure that any attempt of his would fall flat again.

About fifteen minutes before their time was up, though, he couldn't help himself. "Are you sure there's nothing more I should know about you?"

After a moment, Draco deigned to look at Harry. "I'm not sure at all. However, I'm quite certain there's nothing more I'll tell you. Draw your own conclusions, Potter." He returned to looking at the wall coolly.

"Do you want me to fail at being you?" Harry demanded crossly.

"Under the usual circumstances, of course. But with the present condition, I am obligated to say no. It wouldn't be too terrible if you were less than perfect, though, I will admit that," Draco replied, his eyes still fastened on the wall.

"You're such a prat," Harry shook his head angrily.

"Never argued that point."

"And you aren't going to change that, even to stop this spell?"

Draco reluctantly turned his eyes back to Harry. "I have this policy of never changing who I am for other people. I have to be firm in my beliefs, unpopular as they might be. Peer pressure is a terrible thing. I mean, suppose several people were throwing themselves off a bridge – I believe that's the popular expression, isn't it? Would you want me to go over as well?"

"Is there any way we could exchange the two, so you'd be the only one to plummet to your death?" Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

"Impressive vitriol, Potter, I applaud you. But you honestly can't believe I would throw my long, illustrious and probably passion-filled life for the sake of one metaphor, can you? No, I'm going to just be myself, as several popular magazines suggest I should. Don't hinder my self-expression," he said, offended.

"Is that a no, then?" Harry asked after a second.

"Yes, that's a no, of course it's a no," Draco snorted. "Don't be so ridiculously dense."

"Well, at least I'm trying. If we both followed your way of thinking, we'd be stuck like this forever," Harry pointed out.

"Which is why there's people like you," Draco said with distaste. "The whole world would fall apart were there not heroes to keep things under control. Isn't that what I'm supposed to think?"

"No. You can think whatever you want," Harry said, confused.

"Right. Since you guys are all so big on freedom." Draco sounded doubtful about that. "My bad."

"You're impossible," Harry sighed.

"That's kind of my life goal."

Draco left the Room of Requirement in a huff that night. He honestly didn't understand the Headmaster's reasoning with this punishment. Admittedly, the old codger had his moments of wizarding genius, but this idea was pure folly. How could he possibly believe that Draco and Harry would ever "gain understanding" or whatever he said. It clearly wasn't going to happen, so the two of them should start to get used to it.

Aside from the annoying hero thing Harry had going on, Draco had to admit, it wasn't as terrible being Harry as he might've originally thought. He got none of the hate-filled glares he often garnered in his own body. Instead, people smiled at him, said hello to him, slapped him on the back. He was popular, one of the masses. And as loathe as he was to admit it, he rather enjoyed it. Being Harry for a while might not be too terrible, he decided as he stood in front of the Fat Lady. "Kerfuffle," he said absently, lingering for a moment on the stupidity of Gryffindors. Passwords were easily overheard and exploited. A blood tribute, like the one required to enter the Slytherin dungeons, was much smarter.

"How'd it go?" the Mudblood girl asked. She was curled up in a large red armchair by the fireplace, a thick book in her lap.

"Could've gone better," Draco said darkly, sitting across from her on a couch, crossing his legs. She was still looking at him expectantly, so he said, "Malfoy and I had to sit together for two hours and attempt to get along. You can guess how well that went." He knew from experience - telling half the truth made for a stronger lie.

"That sounds awful," she said sympathetically. "How much longer do you have detention with him?"

"As long as Dumbledore wants. He didn't say, specifically."

"He must've said something," she insisted.

Draco shrugged, and wondered in the back of his mind if he and Harry shrug the same way. "He said we have to not hate each other."

"Well, that shouldn't be too difficult." The Mudblood sounded almost cheerful.

Draco stopped trying to be Harry and snorted derisively. "Don't be obtuse." She looked horribly offended, so he amended his statement. "He wants us to change who we are. That doesn't just happen."

"I realize that, Harry," she said with great dignity. "But considering that you're not a hateful person, this should be very easy for you, at least. Draco may be another story."

It was hard for Draco to keep a straight face. Hateful was exactly what he was. "Yeah, he was a bit of a wanker," he said.

To his chagrin, the girl looked appalled, rather than agreeing. "Harry! Don't be cruel. He might be a very nice person, once you get to know him."

"You've got to be kidding me." Draco stared at her in disbelief.

She blushed deeply. "No, I'm serious. People deserve second chances, Harry, that's what you've always said. Is Malfoy somehow an exception?" she demanded, with an air about her of someone who's won an argument.

Draco cursed her and her infamous knowledge. "No, of course not. But surely, you must admit that Draco Malfoy is a bit of a stretch, when it comes to secret virtue."

She looked down at the book in her lap, closed it, and placed it atop the pile next to her chair. Draco noticed the title: _Hogwarts,__A__History_. "Alright. It's a stretch. But his father is dreadful, you know that. So it isn't like he doesn't have a good reason to be the way he is. And people do change. It just takes the right circumstances. Nothing's set in stone, Harry. Not even you."

If only the Mudblood knew how strangely appropriate that sentiment was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: A point-of-view change this time, ladies and gentlemen. Introducing a new set of narrators: Hermione and Ginny. I love them ladies.**

**And I think it's time that I explain my non-canon pairing, seeing as I'm so pro-canon on most other things. In my opinion, Draco's better main character material than Ron, and needs a little more fleshing out. Ginny's going to be the one to smack some sense into him – perhaps literally. With that in mind, I have a question. Hermione/Harry or Hermione/Ron? It could go either way for me right now. I really do like Hermione/Harry, but I feel bad for Ron. Solutions anyone?**

**A further point of clarification: since they took Polyjuice potion, they retain their own blood. They did NOT switch bodies. Harry does not have Malfoy blood. **

Hermione had a funny feeling. There was something definitely off with the boy on the sofa across from her. He looked exactly like Harry, and acted mostly like Harry, but the things he said weren't anything like what Harry normally said. She supposed Harry might just be having a bad day – that was the only explanation she could think of. She was being ridiculous, Hermione instructed herself firmly. It was time to stop.

"Where's your History of Magic essay?" she asked Harry after all that thought.

Harry looked at her blankly. "Why?"

"You asked me to look it over for you. It's due tomorrow." She looked at Harry quizzically. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Of course I am, I'm feeling wonderful. I'm going to go get it, hold on." Harry jumped up and ran up the stairs to his dormitory, then was back in five minutes. "Um, I can't seem to find it," he said, embarrassed. "I'll write it myself tonight."

Hermione sighed through her nose but wasn't too upset. She almost expected it, after all this time. Usually, Harry got down a title and introductory sentence on a good day. "No, Harry, it's fine, I'll do it. Do you have any ideas regarding the subject?"

Harry gave her the confused look that had been his go to that night. "It's fine, really, I'll write it."

"Harry! What's wrong with you?" she finally demanded, frowning at him.

"Nothing! Hermione," he said the word like it was unfamiliar to him, although he's said it several hundred times in the past four years. "Hermione-" It was easier the second time. "- nothing's wrong with me. I'm just upset with Malfoy."

"Yes, but you've never let him get to you like this before," she said insistently, with the dogged stubbornness of a woman who knew she was right. "Something is definitely wrong, Harry, and if you don't want to tell me what, then fine. Write your own essay." She threw a piece of parchment and a quill at Harry, hitting him in the chest.

"Fine. I will." He picked them up, stole a book from her stack, and began to write.

Hermione picked up a book at random and began to pretend to read it, but in actuality, she watched Harry write, trying to figure out what was wrong. She noticed right away that he was writing differently. Instead of being hunched over the paper, scribbling madly, he looked rather calm, meticulously forming his letters, and that baffled her. Did a person ever change how they wrote? She didn't think so. She'd have to research it.

Harry seemed to be actually writing the essay, so finally, she gave up studying him and went back to actually studying. She had to do well on the Defense Against the Dark Arts test tomorrow. Mad-Eye Moody was quite a tough teacher, when it really was him doing the teaching. Just a few days ago, he'd thoroughly humiliated Draco when he attempted to support Voldemort's ideas. It was refreshing, really.

"Harry, don't forget about Defense Against the Dark Arts test tomorrow," she said as an afterthought. "Mad-Eye isn't going to go easy on you just because he knows you."

"Right. Of course he won't." He didn't look up from the parchment.

"And even though Stunning Spells are your specialty, you should still practice as much as you can," she continued, worried.

"I know."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from talking. It was like if she kept going, maybe Harry would return to normal. "If you want to try one out, I could-"

"Okay, Hermione," he interrupted her, looking up at her and almost smiling. "I get it. I'll study."

That was much more normal. Hermione smiled back at him, relieved. "Good." She went back to her book, but couldn't concentrate for long. "You know, Harry, if anything's bothering you, you can tell me or Ron. With Voldemort being so…" Had Harry just flinched? "With Voldemort getting so close to you, there's a lot on your shoulders. It's dangerous. And it can be a lot of stress," she finished.

Harry looked up at her blandly, and Hermione knew in that moment she wasn't looking at Harry Potter. Harry was an open book; he'd never managed such emotional disconnection. "Right," he said flatly. "I'm under a lot of stress. I should probably sleep." And with that, he stood and walked up the steps to his dorm.

Hermione was completely and thoroughly confused now, and, for the first time in her life, she couldn't concentrate at all on her books for the rest of the night.

Ginny had decided today was the day. The enchanted sky in the Great Hall was bright, the day promising, and there were pancakes for breakfast. Bravely, she walked across the Great Hall and sat down directly next to Harry. Ron had an immediate and harsh reaction. "Oy, Ginny, leave us alone," he said through a mouthful, glaring at her.

Hermione savagely elbowed Ron in the ribs. "How are you?" she asked kindly.

"Fine, thank you. Ron, I have to tell you something." Ginny came prepared with a reason to be there. "Mum wants to know if Harry's coming for Christmas again."

"Of course he is," Ron said indignantly. "He has for years, why would you think that's changed? Harry didn't change his mind, right?" Ron looked to Harry, clearly expecting help from his best friend.

Harry could go either way; sometimes he went along with Ron, sometimes he stuck up for Ginny. The other three kids looked at him expectantly for him to resolve the matter. But Harry didn't do either of those things. Instead, he said, "Christmas at the Weaselys'. Right, that'll be loads of fun." It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or not – he almost sounded too earnest. And Ginny, who'd made it her duty to memorize every aspect of Harry, knew for a fact that this was unusual.

"Great, then I'll tell her," Ginny said to Harry. She snuck several glances at him in the next couple of seconds, and noticed something else. Usually, Harry rivaled Ron in the amount of food he could shove in his mouth during a small amount of time. Today, he ate his pancakes daintily from his plate with a fork and knife. "Harry, are you feeling well?" she asked him, frowning.

"Of course I am. Why is everyone asking me that?" he said, throwing down his utensils and scowling.

Ginny looked fiercely at Ron, but he shrugged innocently, so she turned to Hermione, who was looking rather smug. "Two people isn't everyone, Harry," she pointed out. "And we're just worried about your health. You're acting really strange, Harry, don't try to deny it. What's going on with you?"

Harry glanced up at something, and Ginny could've sworn he looked over at the Slytherin table. "I'm just having a bad day. Can't people have bad days?"

"That's not all it is," Ginny mumbled stubbornly.

For the first time, Harry turned and looked her straight in the eyes. Ginny felt the familiar thrill jolt through her. Something about his face was different, though, and after the thrill, Ginny went a little cold. Abruptly, Harry stood up and walked out of the Great Hall.

"What's his problem?" Ron demanded, still stuffing his face.

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes in the exact same way and simultaneously muttered "Boys."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hey kids, an update on the shipping. Due to the overwhelming unanimous support for Harry/Hermione and my own personal feelings, this story is officially Harry/Hermione, even though I do believe Ron/Hermione also has its place. Don't worry, I have something wonderful planned for Ronnie. He's too sweet of a guy in real life for me to be mean. **

**I'm getting kind of anxious having so many people following this story who don't comment. Anything you guys want to bring up? I'm not scary, and I only bite if you try to put me in a headlock. (Truth) Ask the ever-faithful Chase, I'm quite friendly. **

Harry was not enjoying his first full day as Draco Malfoy. He was beginning to wonder how much more insanely boring one person's life could be. For a follower of Lord Voldemort, it sure seemed that Draco had an inordinately mundane life. There was no variety, or excitement. Either he was sitting in class looking smug and sneering, or he was in the Great Hall looking smug and eating, and between those times, he was sitting with other Slytherins looking smug and bragging. That was it.

At least as himself, he could count on someone to need his protection, like Neville or Ginny. As Draco, he couldn't do something nice if he tried – his every action would be misconstrued as something bad. For example, at breakfast, he tried to pass someone the syrup. Instead of that, however, everyone around him thought he was either going to spill it on the kid or take it back last minute. It was unbelievable. As strong as his own reputation was for being a do-gooder, Draco's reputation as an insufferable prig was equally strong.

Classes were different than they were as himself, at least. Though McGonagall was barely speaking to him and Mad-Eye was vaguely threatening towards him all the time. But Snape was cordial, at least, and it nearly killed Harry not to be able to tell Hagrid who he really was.

Finally, it was too much for him. After Defense Against the Dark Arts, he made excuses, left Crabbe and Goyle, then waited in an empty classroom for Draco to walk by. He caught his eye, then motioned Draco into the room.  
>"Subtle again, Potter," Draco said with disdain, crossing his arms. "What do you want from me? I assume there's a reason why you practically abducted me."<p>

"I can't stand your friends," he burst out. "I'm about to go mad with boredom. I need to talk to Ron and Hermione. Can't we just tell them?"

Draco sneered. Even with Harry's face, he was exceptionally talented at it. "Look at you, an international hero, begging to talk to his little friends. Pathetic, Potter. Really. You find new ways to disappoint me every day."

"Right. I'm so heartbroken," Harry said dismissively. "Malfoy, really. I want to speak to them."  
>"Why?" Draco asked, and although the question seemed innocent enough, Harry thought he might've actually been wondering.<p>

"Because, Malfoy, they're my friends. That's what we do. Obviously, from how your friends act, you wouldn't understand," he said angrily. "But they're really my friends. So I'm going to tell them."

"Absolutely not," Draco proclaimed.

"Why not? We just decided not to tell anyone, but why shouldn't we?" Harry asked desperately. "It's not like it would hurt."

"Yes, it would hurt. It would most definitely hurt," Draco said obstinately. "It would be embarrassing, for one, and two, it could go horribly wrong. What if someone killed one of us? What if Voldemort kills me, thinking I'm you? If I die hating you, there's no way any kind of mutual understanding will ever be reached."

Unfortunately, he had a good point. The only thing Harry could stand less than the thought of spending one more day with the Slytherins was the idea of spending the rest of his life with them. "They could keep it secret," Harry suggested as a last-ditch effort.  
>"Right. Sure they could. But the moment that one of them opens their big, fat mouths, we'd both be just as screwed as before. It'd be safer to tell Crabbe, or Goyle. At least they'd forget two minutes after you told them."<p>

It was clear Draco wasn't about to change his mind, no matter how shaky the second part of his logic was. Harry was distraught. "Bollocks," he said with feeling. "You better start to understand me pretty quick, Malfoy, or I swear, I'll do something terrible to you and your family."

Draco stared at him, unimpressed. "That's it? No stories of cold vengeance, specific tales of removed ribcages, or otherwise impressive phrases? I mean, all you've got there is one vague threat."

"Malfoy." Harry gave Draco the best glare he had, and was rewarded by a slightly surprised look from him.

"Alright, fine," he said, like he was annoyed by the whole situation. "Can I go now?"

"Fine. Whatever." That conversation was going nowhere fast anyways. Harry left before Draco could, storming out into the hall. Enraged, he looked more like Draco than he had for the past twenty-four hours.

Draco was, quite frankly, offended. Who did Harry think he was, storming out of the room before Draco had the chance? Maybe it was the body rubbing off on him, but Draco wasn't as quick on the draw as he usually was. It was embarrassing, really.

He couldn't possibly eat in this frame of mind, or be around any of Potter's aggravating friends for a single second. So he went to the one place where no one would look for Harry Potter: deep in the stacks of the school library. His personal favorite section was the Dark Magic books, but he didn't want to explain why he was there if he were to get caught, so he sat on the floor in the history section, closed his eyes, and put his head in his hands.

This thing was much harder than he thought it'd be. It was so difficult to play nice with Harry's friends, act so heroic the whole time, and to be so unsure about everything. As himself, he knew what to do, what to say, who to flatter and who to mock. As Harry, first of all, he couldn't mock anyone, and other than that, he had no real idea what to do. He couldn't admit it to Harry, because Harry was doing wonderfully in his new role, but that Mudblood girl almost had Draco figured out. He couldn't stop her, because he didn't even know how he was giving himself away. There was no way he could be nicer than he was already being, no way he could dumb himself down any further. It was ridiculous. There was no way he could try harder, but also no way for him to be any better at being Harry.

Brilliant. Just another thing he was hopeless at.

"Harry?" a girl's voice said in surprise. It took him a second for him to realize she was addressing him. He looked up and resisted the urge to groan. It was that Mudblood girl, holding a stack of books. "Harry, what are you doing back here?"

"Nothing." For a second, he considered just telling her the truth, like Harry suggested. It'd be such a relief. But of course he couldn't. "What are _you_doing here?" he said instead.

"Just gathering a few more research materials for my extra-credit paper in Arithimancy," she said briskly, putting the books down on a table and crossing her arms. Her being around Draco made him feel acutely uncomfortable, like she would be able to read his guilt off of Harry's face. "Why are you here?" she asked again, not accepting his previous answer.

"I just needed to clear my head," he said reluctantly.

Instantly, from the frown on her face told him he'd said the exact wrong thing, and he wanted to smack himself. "Since when have you ever come to the _library_ to clear your head?" she demanded. "Don't you usually go play Quidditch, or take a walk, or go see Hagrid, right? That's what you usually do."

"Right. I'll go find Hagrid, then." He tried to stand and leave, but the girl wouldn't let him.

She stood directly in his way and glared at him. "Harry, wait. One quick question: I can't remember, what's the name of Sirius's house elf?"

Draco had less than no idea. He'd have to bluff. "Dotty or something, isn't it?"

Wrong answer. Immediately, Hermione grabbed up the heaviest book she could get her hands on and began to beat him with it, wherever she could reach. She hit surprisingly hard – Draco was sure he'd bruise. "What are you doing?" he demanded of her angrily, trying to shield himself with his arms and hands.

"Where's Harry?" she whispered furiously, not breaking library rules even in her rage. "What have you done with him? Who are you really? I ought to murder you right where you sit, you disgusting little-"

"Stop!" he said pathetically, practically curled into the fetal position. "I'll tell you everything, just stop." It was downright embarrassing for a Malfoy to be reduced to this.

With great reluctance, Hermione put down her book. "Where is Harry," she repeated.

"He's still in Hogwarts, perfectly alright." Draco sat up, trying to be calm.

"Is this some plot to infiltrate his life? Are you holding him prisoner?"

The girl was definitely rabid when her precious hero was threatened. "No, we're not holding him prisoner," he scoffed. "Why would I do something as idiotic as that? I doubt anyone would even want him enough to pay the ransom."

"You loathsome little cockroach," she growled, frighteningly close to his face. "Tell me exactly what's going on, or I swear, I will turn you in to Dumbledore."

"Go right ahead," Draco snorted. "He already knows. It's his fault, really."

This seemed to placate her. "What's his fault? What exactly is going on?" she asked in a much calmer tone of voice.

"I can't tell you. I have to talk to someone first, nothing personal." Though if it were personal, it could've easily had something to do with her hair, which surrounded her head like a fuzzy brown halo.

"Well, when can you give me an answer? Can't you at least tell me who you are?"

"No can do," he shook his head. "On either of those counts."

Hermione heaved a large, dramatic sigh, then sat down across from Draco. "Can you give me a hint, at least?" she said as a last-ditch effort.

"Are you kidding me? One hint and you'd guess it straight off," he said.

She looked moderately pleased at this. "Maybe not straight off."

"Definitely straight off."

"So you're someone I know, then?" she said slyly.

Draco cursed to himself. Of course, she would manage to extract a hint from him not giving her a hint. "No, you don't know me," he lied. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. She didn't really know him at all.

"I think I do," she said slowly, looking at him intensely. Draco felt acutely uncomfortable, like she could pick the truth straight out of his mind.

"No, definitely not. I'm a complete stranger." Heavy sarcasm here. He sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands. "Do you know how complete exhausting it was to be pretend to be that wanker for an entire day?" he said, half to himself.

"Harry isn't a wanker," the Mudblood girl said after a second, but she was smiling despite herself. "I don't think it would be too entirely difficult to be him for one day," she continued.

"Oh really," Draco said sardonically.

"Yes, really," she retorted.

"Yeah, well, maybe for you goody-two-shoes Gryffindors it wouldn't be hard." The words slipped out before he realized how plainly they gave him away. "I mean, no other house promises to blatantly risk their lives for others. That's not something everyone can do," he said flatly, praying that for once in her perfect Mudblood life, Hermione Granger would miss something.

Miraculously, she did – mostly. "It's not being a goody-two-shoes to do the right thing," she told him indignantly.

"Right," he agreed, to cover his tracks. "But you don't have to lord it over the rest of us like you do. But forget I said anything," he shrugged and looked down at the floor.

Draco could feel her eyes on him, and after a second of silence, she said, "I knew you weren't Harry before now," she admitted. "I just wasn't willing to admit it to myself. I thought I was going crazy or something."

"How soon did you know?" Draco inquired, sounding quite hurt.

"Since last night."

"What? How did you know?" Now, his feelings were definitely injured.

"You're nothing like Harry," she confessed. "You don't eat like him, or write like him, or sit like him, and you definitely don't talk like him."

"Alright, I get it," he stopped her. "Nothing like him. Not even a little. I could've told you that much." He just had been so sure that if he wanted to, he could emulate the boy he spent his life trying to tear apart. Then he realized – "I don't _eat_ like him? Or _write_ like he does? What, do you stalk him?"

She blushed furiously, and Draco made a mental note of this. "Of course not. It's just little things you notice once you're friends with people. Right?" she said to him.

Definitely not right. He couldn't tell anyone how Crabbe or Goyle ate or wrote, or that infernal Pansy Parkinson, or anyone he regularly saw. He didn't know anyone could. For a second, he almost agreed with her, just to get her off his back. But then he realized he was completely anonymous, perhaps for the only time in his life, and here he was, sitting next to someone who had all the answers. That idea was frighteningly appealing.

For a brief, terrifying instant, Draco Malfoy was completely honest. "Not right," he said softly, decidedly not looking at her.

"You don't notice those about your friends?" she said curiously.

Draco shook his head.

"Then you must not be too observant." She tried to joke.

"I'm very observant," he stated simply.

"Then you must not have very good friends."

Draco only shrugged, continuing to avoid her eyes. Suddenly, it occurred to him that honesty was a very stupid idea on his part.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Frequent reader and reviewer, Chase15, and myself are going to be starting a quick little spinoff fic. Basically, it'll be letters between her and Draco over the course of the books, one for each of them per book, filled with righteous anger and sarcasm. Check it out if you want. Once it's up, I'll throw a link to it on my profile. **

**We'll be getting into some of the darker stuff with Draco pretty soon. He's been maintaining a civil front, but his petty hatred of Harry and the gang hasn't disappeared. Things will probably get worse before they begin to get better – some nonsense about character development and plot arcs. Whatever. **

Harry struggled through his second day of classes with relative ease. As it turned out, it wasn't too difficult for him to be Malfoy during class time – all he had to do was sit there sullenly and look bored. Other Slytherin students did most of his actual work for him. Aside from the excruciating boredom of eating with or being anywhere near Malfoy's "friends", and not being able to speak with Ron and Hermione, things weren't too torturous.

In light of how the previous night had gone, Harry wasn't too excited for his mandatory meeting that night with Draco. It would just be another two hours of him trying to be nice and Draco not caring. He wasn't exactly looking forward to that. So he may or may not have been a little late for detention.

"Where have you been?" Draco demanded the moment Harry set foot in the room. "It's nearly a quarter after eight. Making me do all the work myself, opening the room, thinking extra hard about us getting along.

"I got caught up," Harry lied smoothly. He was sure Draco wouldn't accept it, but the other boy seemed to believe him instantly.

"Well, don't," is all he said disapprovingly.

"Fine." Harry flopped into his chair and ate a few lemon drops. Only after working his way through a mouthful did he realize there was something off about the guy who looked so much like himself. "Is something wrong?"

"NO," Draco replied swiftly and angrily. "There is absolutely nothing wrong. But I do have something I should tell you," he admitted.

"Yeah? What?"

"I may have accidentally…" Draco paused just a few seconds too long for Harry to be comfortable. "…told that Mudblood she looked like a beaver," he finished quickly.

Any suspicions Harry had were lost in his instant annoyance. "Why would you do that? That's completely idiotic. How did she not instantly guess it wasn't me?"

"I passed it off as a joke," he said, shrugging. "You know, for the brightest witch of our age, she really can be quite stupid sometimes."

"What?" Harry couldn't understand what Draco meant. To him, Hermione had always been at the unattainable pinnacle of academic perfection, all by herself. "No, she's not," he said defensively.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? She has such prodigious knowledge and yet she uses it to write essays for you two buffoons? You can't tell me that's an intelligent move."

"That's what your friends do for you."

"But they're not geniuses." Draco looked at Harry for a second, rolled his eyes again, and changed his mind. "So. How are we going to spend this current two-hour long period of torture? Some light opera, perhaps, or a little calisthenics? I left my yoga pants back in my room, so I won't be quite as flexible, but I'm sure we can work something out."

At that moment, Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never understand Malfoy. Ever.

"No," Harry said flatly. Apparently, he didn't appreciate Draco's sense of humor.

Draco shrugged "Some other time, then. What do you suggest?"

"We don't want to get found out. So let's teach each other how to be each other," Harry shrugged, pulling another handful of candy out of the jars.

"It's not difficult to be you," Draco snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, it's not exactly hard to be an insufferable prig either," Harry shot back angrily. "It's just if someone looks closely, I think it would be pretty obvious that you're not me. That's all."

Draco was very tempted to be horribly offended, except for the fact that Harry was very right. And although it was too late to stop Hermione, he might have to stop others sometime. "Alright," Draco said reluctantly. "So like what?"

"You could eat more," Harry said through a mouthful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. "And not call people beavers, for starters."

Draco stifled his disgust. "Okay. And you, you should be less nice. And eat less. And never ask for anything. Just say you need it, people should get it for you."

"Really?" Harry asked in a bit of confusion.

"Yep. Especially if you go home. Oh God, if you go home, tell me. If my father finds out you're not me, the least he'll do is kill you." He hadn't thought about that before now, but just the idea of it sent cold shivers down his spine. "Promise me that."

Harry seemed slightly baffled by his insistence. "Alright, I promise. And you promise not to call Hermione a Mudblood, or make fun of the Weaselys. If we're not back by Christmas, you're going to have to spend it with them."

"My Christmas with the poster family for the Salvation Army is less of a concern than your Christmas with the Malfoys, believe me," Draco said firmly. And as tempted as he was to remain strongly committed to his anti-progress platform, he had to admit that Harry dying was not something he could let happen, not while they were still under this spell. So with great reluctance, he said, "Let's do that, then. Let's get you prepared so you don't get killed the instant you step in my house."

Harry thought about this. It took him three Chocolate Frogs to consider Draco's offer. "Okay," he said. "Thanks. That would be good."

Draco took a deep breath, trying to think of where in the world to start. "Look at how I'm sitting, for example," he finally said.

"What about it?" Harry shrugged.

"Imitate it. Here," Draco stood, and motioned to his chair. "Sit just like I was."

By the way Harry exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as he got up and walked around the desk, it was clear he didn't think much of this, but he sat in Draco's chair and tried. "There," he said. "So what's the deal?"

"Well, first of all you're doing it completely wrong. You're slumping too much."

"I'm sitting up straight," Harry protested.

"Not straight enough. And either put both your feet firmly on the ground or put your right ankle on your opposite knee," Draco instructed. "Those are your only two options. Now straighten up."

Obediently, Harry straightened, and planted his feet on the ground.

"Much better. Now, either fold your hands or put them on your knees." Harry put them on his knees.

Thoughtfully, Draco rounded the desk and looked at Harry. The Boy Who Ate had gotten it pretty near to perfect. It was almost like looking at himself, with poorer posture and less cold condescension. "Better," was all he said. "But it's not just about how you sit."

"Thanks, Malfoy. Being impossibly vague must be one of the ways you help people," Harry said in exasperation, slumping back into his normal posture.

For the first time in his life, Draco didn't respond to a taunt. "I mean you have to act like you _belong_ in that chair," he said. "Malfoys are a proud lot. We married our cousins rather than mix blood with anyone we deemed unworthy. We have class, dignity, and poise."

"No, you have big heads, impossible attitudes, and ridiculous hair."

"What? What's wrong with our hair?" Draco demanded, offended.

"It's so wispy and annoying. And it gets in my eyes all the time," Harry complained.

"You're one to talk. It's like you have a jungle growing on top of your head." Draco tugged on one Harry's locks of hair in frustration. "It's literally impossible to get a brush through this."

"Do you even own a brush?"

"Not currently, I usually don't need one." Draco makes a face at Harry, and Harry makes one back. "Just try," Draco said.

"Try what?"

"Try to act like you're actually one of us. The world is at your command, and you deserve it. Well, you don't, but I do," he amended his statement.

"Nice. How do I even act like that? That's something you are, not something you can act like," Harry protested.

"Yeah, well you've got my body, so it's in there somewhere. Try it out."

"Then you go act like me," Harry said, pointing at his squashy chair.

Draco had the urge to laugh in Harry's face and say no to this fruity roleplaying thing, but again, he reminded himself that Harry couldn't die if he wanted to be changed back. So he crossed the room and perched gingerly in the chair.

Harry wasn't satisfied. "Sit like I do. And eat. Act like the Chosen One."

"You mean pompous and arrogant enough to call themselves the Chosen One?" Draco snorted.

"I don't usually call myself that," Harry said defensively. "That's what the reporters and whatever call me, I didn't come up with that."

"You don't fight it," Draco pointed out.

"Have you ever tried to fight a reputation once everyone already believes it?"

Clearly a rhetorical question, but Draco gave it a shot anyways. "Never really wanted to. My reputation is something I've worked pretty hard on."

"Well, mine isn't," Harry muttered.

Draco decided to drop it, and attempted to lean back and slouch. "Do really have to eat all the time?" he asked plaintively.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "And slouch more. Go boneless."

"What?" Draco frowned.

"Like this." Harry sat up straight and stiff, then instantly went limp, slumping into the chair like he was dead. After a second, he sat back up. "Do that."

Draco sighed, as if this whole exercise deeply vexed him, and attempted to go boneless, falling back into the plush chair, his head lolling. "You know," he said, moving only his mouth, "this chair has terrible lumbar support."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I discovered a new amazing fanfic that consumed my time. I had to read it ALL before I could write a single word. That's how I get sometimes. Really, it's an illness. Thanks for all the sweet reviews, people, it warmed my little heart. Enjoy.**

Harry was thoroughly confused. Every interaction with Draco made him feel like he was a hamster, running very fast on a wheel and not getting anywhere. "What does lumbar support have to do with anything?" he asked. Normally, he wouldn't want to admit any weakness in front of Malfoy, but this most recent non-sequitor was the last straw. He had to try to understand him, at least.

"Nothing. Couldn't be less relevant. I was just making an observation, that's all," Draco said, still sprawled in his chair. "Is this how you really sit? It seems impractical, to say the least."

"No, that's not how I sit. Don't be preposterous," Harry chided, sitting up straight in his chair and folding his hands primly on the desk. He looked down his nose at Draco in a way that felt absolutely ridiculous.

"Just like that," Draco said excitedly, sitting up partially. "That's perfect."

"And that," Harry said, pointing at Draco and breaking character. "Just like that."

They stared at each other for a second. "So you're capable of being a Malfoy," Draco finally said, his tone expressionless.

"And you can be me," Harry said in return.

"Certainly seems that way."

"We just have to do it for more than three seconds at a time."

"And therein lies the main issue," Draco sighed. "I guess that was progress, though, enough for today, at least. Let's be done, let's leave. It's not like the Headmaster would know," Draco said.

Harry didn't entertain the idea for a second. "Dumbledore said two hours. We're in here for two hours."

"Well, what else could we possibly do?" Draco asked innocently. Absently, he reached into one of the many glass jars and extracted a single Ice Mouse, then gently placed it in his mouth and chewed. "Learn more about our seemingly insurmountable differences and in the process, discover our true similarities? Or we could compose a piano concerto, perhaps in the key of A minor."

Again, Harry was completely lost. "Why would we do that?"

For possibly the first time in Harry's memory, he saw Draco crack a smile. "Your confusion is really making this whole thing much more entertaining," he observed. "Please, don't stop on my account."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to stop. You keep saying completely senseless things for no apparent reason, and I don't understand why," Harry shook his head, completely bemused. "You've never been exactly affable before, but suddenly you're making all these jokes – at least I think they're jokes. Aren't they?"

Draco became solemn. "You tell me," he said, his seriousness so complete that Harry began to suspect he was teasing him, again.

"What kind of answer is that?" Harry was upset. "How am I supposed to understand you if I can't understand half the things you say?"

"Don't be so literal, Potter," Draco scolded him. "You take everything too seriously. Doesn't saving the world leave you any time to crack a few jokes at other peoples' expense? What good is your hero status if you can't use it to baffle and amaze us mere mortals?" Apparently, Harry's confusion was plainly visible on his face, because Draco snorted, apparently as close as he ever got to laughing. "You look like I just told you Dumbledore was secretly a black-market tapioca pudding smuggler."

Harry dropped his head down on the desk. "I give up," he said, resigned. "You're impossible. It's times like these that I remember why I despised you."

"Past tense?" Draco inquired.

Harry smiled into the table. "Barely."

No. Definitely not. Draco could not allow himself to accept the fact that Harry had just admitted to not completely hating him. That would mean that things were going well, and he didn't want them to go well. Except that he did, even if it meant cooperating with his sworn enemy, because then he'd get his own body back.

This whole situation was very confusing, which was upsetting. He was supposed to be the one doing the baffling, not the one being baffled. It was very unfair.

He bluffed his way through the last hour, but he wasn't really involved anymore. He was detached, his mind completely somewhere else. To be specific, he was trying to figure this whole thing out. He couldn't be on both sides for much longer, not without compromising his position strength overall, and the one thing he could never risk was an unsafe position. That was always one of his father's firmest instructions.

It was relatively simple to tune out Harry's prattle about how to be the ideal hero, and focus on the issue at hand. But even with his mostly complete attention, it still remained a conundrum by the end of the detention. He couldn't pick, because picking implied a more important decision being made. If he remained as hostile as he'd always been towards Harry, then he was resigned to a life that wasn't his own. If he did what he was supposed to, however, and genuinely gave up his hatred of his sworn enemy, then he would be violating every principle he'd so carefully constructed over the past four years, not to mention committing an offense that would probably get him disowned or killed, should his family ever discover it. Neither choice was ideal.

He couldn't decide by the time he left the room, and things didn't become any clearer on his walk back to the Gryffindor dormitories. "Kerfuffle," he said wearily to the Fat Lady, and climbed into the common room.

Hermione was siting by the fireplace again, with the same stack of books next to her, and she looked up when Draco came in. "Hey," she said sharply. "Come over here."

Draco didn't argue, and flopped down onto the same couch as last night. "What, you won't call me Harry?" he said quietly, because there was another boy sitting on the other side of the room.

"No, because you're not him," she replied, also quiet. "If you'd only tell me your name, I'd know what to call you. But you avoided me all day."

"You're going to have to get used to calling me Harry," Draco said calmly. "Unless you want to ruin both of our cover."

"What do you mean?" She definitely sounded intrigued, just as he'd intended.

Draco had prepared this argument while he'd been hiding from her, and now he unleashed its full fury. "I can't tell you the details of what's going on or who I am, but Harry and I are in this together, and we have to keep this a secret, alright? Or else Harry and I could both be in great danger."

It was mostly true, perfectly crafted to appeal to her sense of honor, adventure, and loyalty to Harry, and it worked. Hermione narrowed her eyes, then shoved the book off her lap and sat next to Draco on the couch. "Can you tell me anything about the situation?" she whispered insistently.

"Only that we're both fine and no one can know I'm not him. Can I trust you?" he asked her, looking at her intently. It felt like he was in some ridiculous sort of play, complete with ridiculous mitigating circumstances and conspiracies. The thought nearly made him laugh – if someone had told him he'd be whispering with Hermione Granger in the Gryffindor common room and not be secretly be planning her demise, he'd have used a few choice curses to straighten them out.  
>"Yes, of course," Hermione nodded. "Can I speak to him?"<p>

That would be a disaster. Harry couldn't find out that Draco had failed. But Draco remained calm. "No, too risky. But he wants to talk to you, too. As soon as possible, I'll let you know. Alright?"

She didn't answer right away, looking at him thoughtfully. "And you can't tell me who you are, why is that?" she asked. "That doesn't seem like it would hurt anything."

Technically, maybe it wouldn't, except that she'd probably go all mental and try to kill him. The past couple of days would go straight out the window, and he'd almost definitely get found out. He couldn't tell her. "Trust me, it would," he said to her. "Just call me Harry. It'll be safest."

It was a tough sell. Hermione was no idiot, by any stretch of imagination. She looked at him skeptically for a few seconds. During those few seconds, Draco prayed fervently that Harry's face wouldn't betray him, and simultaneously wished he were in his own perfect body.

Apparently, this one did just fine. She bought it, hook, line, and sinker. "Alright," she nodded, then hesitated. "Can I at least have something to call you – specifically, only you?"

Draco dared not wonder why she was practically insisting on this. He also didn't dare to continue denying her and risk making her even more suspicious. So he said, "I guess you could call me Altair."

"Altair," she repeated. "You're sure you're not a demonic spirit or something? Wait," she cut herself off. "Who cares if you're sure. It's more important that I be sure. There's no concrete proof to support your claims," she realized.

Suddenly, Draco was very nervous. "I'm not, really. I'll get you evidence," he said quickly.  
>"What kind of evidence?" Hermione demanded sternly.<p>

"I… I don't know. What do you want?"

"A letter from him," she said, almost without any consideration.

"Sure," Draco said immediately. He had literally no idea how to get that letter out of Harry without telling him Hermione knew about their switch, but he couldn't afford to let Hermione have even an iota of doubt in him. She could expose him if she discovered it, yes, but there was more to it than that. For some reason, Draco wanted her to trust him. He couldn't stand the distrust in her eyes. Everything felt so much better when she was happy and smiling at him.

He wasn't starting to care for her, though – he shrank away from the very idea. Caring for people was exceedingly foolish, and that Mudblood girl was the last person he'd choose. Absolutely the very last.

"Good," she said, smiling. "Well, then, Altair, pleasure to meet you."

"Mutual, I'm sure," Draco replied coolly. Everything was officially going as he planned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Just a few comments. I've been reading quite a bit of fanfics lately, and I've got a few new pet peeves. Like, for example, when someone decides to address every single reviewer in a note and tell them how awesome they are. Just seems like bragging about reviews, to me. Very manipulating. Also, I despise Mary Sues. Violently. Especially ones that are blatant about it. **

**That being said, I'm considering putting in an OC of my own. Not at all a romantic interest for any of the characters in any way, I promise, and not some thinly veiled version of me or of "a friend of mine". We'll see. If you feel strongly about it either way, lemme know. Holla. **

**Onward!**

Harry was very sure that he was slowly going mad. For three full days, now, his only socializing had been with other members of the Slytherin house, and quite frankly, to call them social was a bit of a stretch. He understood why they couldn't tell him about the switch, but really, he had to do something. That day, during the lunch hour, he slipped away and made his way straight to Dumbledore's office. "Ice Mice," he said, looking down the hall in both directions to make sure no one was watching. He was pretty sure Draco Malfoy never voluntarily visited the Headmaster.

"Harry! How wonderful to see you," Dumbledore said loudly as Harry was climbing the spiral stairs, before he even saw Harry. "Please, come in. What seems to be the problem?"

"I can't do this. Please don't make us stay like this any longer," Harry said desperately as he walked into the office. "Malfoy's driving me crazy."

Dumbledore was as calmly enigmatic as ever. "My dear boy, I'm afraid you don't understand. I'm incapable of taking this spell off now, it's already in motion. The two of you will simply remain each other until you no longer hate each other. "

"That's never going to happen," Harry said with feeling, plopping down into a chair across from Dumbledore. "He says he's going to try, but-"

"Harry." Dumbledore cut him off. "Do you truly think I would present you with a task that I know to be impossible? The only reason I chose this punishment was because I thought it would do you both well and help you grow as wizards. Teamwork has proven to be quite important to your success against Voldemort, hasn't it?"

"Yes, but not with HIM," Harry insisted. "No one can work with him, unless he gets to order everyone else around and no one argues with him." He sighed, somewhat dramatically, and slumped even farther down in his chair. "I miss my friends."

Dumbledore looked at him with gentle kindness. "I'm sure you do. And while your opinion of the Malfoy boy may seem accurate, I can tell you almost definitively that it isn't."

Even this didn't change Harry's gloomy demeanor. "You can't know that," he groused. "He's an obnoxious git, and that is that."

"Don't be so short-sighted," Dumbledore chided him. "Draco Malfoy is a complex individual, like yourself, and everyone else in this world. You've only seen what he wants you to see. True, he may be arrogant, cowardly-"

"He's probably a Death Eater," Harry commented, but Dumbledore seemed not to notice.

"-perhaps even unkind, but he has several strengths, as well."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"He's exceedingly loyal. He is, how shall I put this, a little more academically talented than you show yourself to be. And he also is ridiculously stubborn, much like yourself." Dumbledore said the last part with an impish twinkle in his eye.

Predictably, Harry was affronted. "What? I am not stubborn. I am not anything like him, in any way. Not even in the slightest. We couldn't be more different. Really."

"Your vehement disapproval suggests something else," Dumbledore said blandly.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then realized that would be proving Dumbledore's point, and closed it. Finally, he muttered, "But what if it takes years for us to stop hating each other?"

"Then you'll become accustomed to the Slytherin dungeons," Dumbledore said. "And you should probably acquaint yourself with the manners of the Malfoy family."

Harry sighed again, in resignation this time, and pulled himself to his feet. "Do you know how I'd be able to do that?" he asked as a last ditch attempt to get some kind of help from Dumbledore.

"Well, I'd imagine you'd just have to ask him. Oh, and Harry." Harry stopped walking away to look over his shoulder. Dumbledore nearly smiled, but somehow, he looked saddened, as well. "I'd suggest you begin doing your own schoolwork, before some of the sharper professors notice a decline in Draco's quality of work."

"What?" Harry would've feigned innocence, if he'd been less shocked. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, though. Dumbledore knew everything there was to know, even if he didn't let on.

"Did I say something?" Dumbledore said, staring at the ceiling. "Terribly sorry. Must've let an errant thought slip out. Go on your way." He motioned at Harry to leave, so he did, more confused than before.

The visit hadn't made him feel the slightest bit better - it only left him with more questions than before. Harry trusted Dumbledore completely, but he had trouble believing Draco had anything positive going for him, let alone anything in common. The thought of spending any time at all with the Malfoy family made him cringe, even though they'd discussed it in detention. All high-backed chairs and imposing portraits, stony, cruel, and cold. As he walked out of Dumbledore's office, he shivered slightly. He looked around nervously for observers, and darted down the hall when he didn't see any.

"Blatantly obvious as usual, Potter. Running off to the Headmaster for help again?" Draco's voice came out of seemingly nowhere, making Harry jump nervously.

"I had to talk to someone," Harry said sullenly, embarrassed.

Draco fell into step next to him. "What did he say? Were my virtues declared from the mountaintops?"

"Sort of, actually, yes," Harry said, acutely annoyed.

Malfoy looked surprised, then quickly composed himself. "As they should be. Sounds like the old codger finally got something right. So do you feel better, or whatever nonsense you were going on about?" he asked. His tone was cool, but something was different. Harry supposed it was just the different body – Draco Malfoy did not ask friendly questions.

"Not particularly," Harry grumbled.

"See? I told you talking won't make you feel better. Be a man. Go poke something with a sharp stick – not a euphemism," Draco specified.

Somehow, Harry doubted that would help him either. "No thanks."

"Your funeral. I always did like fencing, myself, it's a lovely stress relief, and very civilized. It's one of my many talents," Draco confided modestly.

"Oh," Harry said, distinctly uninterested.

"Yes. That and spelunking, origami, Italian cuisine, gambling, and some light jewelry-making on the weekends."

"Can gambling really be a hobby?" Harry asked, frowning, then abruptly realized, "Wait a minute. You shouldn't be seen with me. This is bad for our cover."

Draco shrugged that statement off. "I have an idea. Why don't you send that Herman girl a letter, to ease her mind."

Harry stared at Draco in shock, stopping dead in his tracks. He couldn't believe his own ears – he didn't want to, at first, so the let down wouldn't be as terrible. But it seemed Draco was being serious. Maybe Dumbledore was right, maybe Malfoy did have his strengths.

The bait was out there – he only needed to wait for Harry to take it, and then he'd have his evidence for the girl.

Harry, of course, was elated by the idea. "Could I?" he said in disbelief.

"Of course you could. Just make it appear as an ordinary note, so she doesn't get suspicious. I'll give it to her as if it's from me, and I'll give you the reply. All is well. How does that sound?" Draco said, remaining cool, even though he could barely keep from jumping up and clicking his heels together in glee. That is, if he were inclined to jump, or be gleeful. Joy of any kind was generally discouraged in the Malfoy family, as well as all public displays of such.

"Alright. I'll give it to you tonight. And thank you."

Draco looked at Harry, appalled. "What did you just say?"

"I said thank you," Harry repeated awkwardly.

"Yes, I thought so." Draco wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Why?"

"You found a way for me to talk to at least one of my friends, without them finding out about the switch," Harry said sincerely. "That was a decent thing to do."

Draco finally realized that Harry was attempting to pay him a complement with this statement, and then discovered he didn't know how to respond to it. "Um, yes. Well, okay, cheers then. See you tonight," he said quickly, and abruptly turned completely around and walked in the other direction. The farther he got from Harry, the more he felt relieved. The end of that encounter had unbalanced him. Harry was more difficult to predict than everyone else, naïve to the point of idiocy. It was a mystery how he'd managed to save the entire wizarding world multiple times without getting himself killed.

"Were you just talking to Malfoy?" Ron demanded, coming out of nowhere to begin walking next to Draco.

"Did you follow me?" Draco demanded, horribly offended.

"What? Of course. We always follow you when you slip out of the Great Hall mysteriously. I thought it was just one of those unwritten rules." Ron shrugged. "So why were you talking to that git?"

It was exceedingly strange to hear himself being trashed to his face. Draco got a kind of perverse pleasure from it. "Just laying down the law. I am the Chosen One, he's just a worthless little snake in the grass," he said with gusto.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, _Harry_," Hermione said pointedly, coming up on his other side. She looked self-important as usual, but for once, her prodigious brainpower was being used to help Draco's plan – namely, remaining undercover – so he didn't argue with her.

"Right, sorry, just frustrated. Detention and such." Draco hoped that was a suitably goody-goody Potter answer. Ron seemed happy enough, and the girl stopped shooting him those looks that could pierce steel, so that was a plus. The three of them walked to the Charms classroom together in silence. Draco wasn't sure if that was normal for them. Somehow, he thought it might not be, but he didn't know how to fix that, so he left it the way it was.

Hermione pulled him back as he tried to walk into the classroom, letting Ron walk in alone. "Why were you talking to Malfoy?" she demanded in a whisper.

"Had to ask about something we have to do in detention," Draco lied smoothly. "Can we go learn Charms now?"

She was suspicious, but not enough to detain him further. "Sure. Just a pointer, though; Harry's never excited to do schoolwork of any sort. You might want to at least try to imitate that, Altair."

"Right." He was shocked for a moment at her help, but then quickly reminded himself, that's what Harry's friends did. They held him up through everything that happened so he never had to stand on his own two feet. As Harry, he could expect the same benefits.

Draco followed her into the classroom and sat next to Ron, because that was what Harry did – that much he knew for certain. Professor Flitwick began to lecture on appearance-changing charms, and Draco got to not pay attention at all. He didn't even need to look condescending; Harry didn't do condescending. He did bored, half-asleep, and daydreaming, but none of those required any effort whatsoever on Draco's part. Flitwick didn't even disturb his reverie, as he was apt to do when Draco looked like himself. The preferential treatment Harry got was sickening – though Draco had to admit, it did come in handy in this particular unlikely instance.

"Bloody hell, this is dull," Ron muttered.

Draco had the almost uncontrollable urge to comment on the irony of that statement, given the sharpness of Ron's own wits, but refrained. "Yes," he said, sounding somewhat strangled from his restraint.

Ron looked at him oddly, and opened his mouth. Heroically, Hermione swooped into the conversation. "What was that last thing he said?" she asked imperiously, clearly expecting one of them to know the answer. Instantly, Ron lost interest in Harry's uncharacteristic actions and tried desperately to give her the answer. He failed, of course; he'd been paying even less attention than Draco. But it didn't matter. After delivering a stern glare and a command to "Pay attention, Ron. Honestly." Hermione turned back to her notes with a secret smile on her face, and Draco knew, as plainly as if she'd said it to him, that she had just covered for him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Hey beautifuls. The holiday season was very rough on my writing schedule. So sorry about the delay, it won't happen again. As an apology, I'm giving you extra Draco fun time, so enjoy! Nothing gives me more pleasure than exploring that psychopath's mind. Guys, let's roll. **

"It's been two weeks, Malfoy. Are you sure you don't hate me yet?"

"Potter, if the decision were up to me, we'd be free of this idiotic spell seven seconds after we switched. I don't fancy this gawky body of yours at all."

"We couldn't switch back after seven seconds. Dumbledore hadn't even told us how to by then."

"Oh, shut up."

Draco and Harry scowled at each other fiercely. Harry was firmly convinced that Malfoy was doing everything possible to antagonize him, but stopping just short of making Harry downright despise him again. Harry was doing his best to remain calm and just blow off the insults and comments, but it was getting increasingly difficult. At this point, he was very cross. "You're not the only one having difficulty with this assignment," he informed Draco.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're not all sunshine and smiles, either."

Draco looked offended at the very thought off either of those things being applied to his person. "I've never laid claim to either of those things," he said with great dignity.

This only made Harry angrier. "Do you always have to be so flippant?" he demanded in frustration. It occurred to him that he would feel a lot less aggravated were he in his own squishy chair, surrounded by his delicious varieties of candy, but he was trapped behind Draco's infernal desk, in his chair that couldn't possibly be more uncomfortable.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It's part of my contract," Draco stated.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Be serious."

"I am, I'm being perfectly serious. Flippancy is my trademark, it's kind of my thing," Draco maintained, holding a Chocolate Frog between two fingers and inspecting it curiously.

"Well you're me now, so it's not anymore. Be serious," Harry repeated, and he felt fiercely upset now, in a way that he never had been before.

Draco looked slightly genuinely surprised. "No need to go mental. What am I being serious about, again?"

"Why do you hate me still? We've been doing everything possible to make that stop, but you're acting like nothing's changed. Don't you want to get back?"

This question was apparently foolish. "Obviously," Draco said with great patience. His eyes – Harry's eyes – were very cold. "But you are sorely mistaken if you believe a few stupid trust exercises and rare moments of cooperation will change my opinion of you. If you think that, you're more of an idiot than I thought, and that's saying something."

"What have I ever done to you?" Harry demanded angrily. The question spilled out from somewhere deep inside that he didn't know existed. "Please, enlighten me. What is your huge problem with me?"

"You honestly expect me to just tell you? Seeing as I'm not yet another one of your screaming fans after spending some quality time with you, an intelligent person would conclude that perhaps I have a deep-seated and unending hatred of you that is incommunicable," Draco suggested blandly.

He was nearly positive that was an insult at the end, but he ignored that and snorted derisively. "As if there's something you can't somehow find the words for. Tell me. What is it, so I can fix it and we can get back to our normal bodies."

Suddenly, Draco went very pale, and his eyes, which before had been cold, were now arctic. "Some things can't be fixed."

"What? You mean you're just going to stay this way forever, you're not even going to try? No, I can't do that," Harry said, beginning to panic, even though that felt ridiculous for him. "You have to try."

"Do I? What difference would it make? If I were to try, and I failed – which I inevitably will – the outcome would be no different," Draco said frostily.

"How do you know you'll fail?" Harry challenged.

"Because it's a fact. I will never like you."

The way he said that, with such complete disdain and certainty, was insufferable. Harry couldn't stand it – he stood, leaning over the desk slightly. "Why," he said with great emphasis. He felt very warm, and his head was pounding with a sudden surge of frustration. He couldn't stay like this forever. He couldn't. And any obstacle to his changing back had to be removed, even this supposedly inexpressible and deep-seated hatred that Malfoy was talking about. That was baffling in addition to being infuriating, and he wouldn't stand for it.

Draco hated seeing Harry as his doppelgänger. It was so strange seeing his own face so open and emotional. Draco was never emotional. He'd certainly never looked at someone with such naked rage and loathing like Harry was shooting his way. Really, though, he was thinking he might need to adopt that expression for his own use. If he were anyone but himself, Draco might've been slightly terrified. "Alright," he said, very calm. "Fine. But don't expect to understand it." Harry would most likely misinterpret every word of this explanation, because he was who he was, but Draco was going to give it a shot, for his own sake almost as much as Harry's.

"You're the Boy Who Lived. You defeated the Dark Lord when you were just a child. Can you comprehend how astonishing that is? No. Obviously you can't, because you're content to do as you're instructed. You're very strongly against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters – do you have any idea why? Of course you don't. You're a puppet. A puppet who's done everything possible to get me and my family killed."

Harry, who'd remained silent through this tirade so far, took offence to that statement. "I haven't tried to get you lot killed," he said in affronted tones, narrowing his eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you what would happen when you triumph yet again over the Dark Lord? No, no you don't. It's all about _your_ victory, _your_ circle of friends. Nothing else matters. You pretend to be so holy but you're just as selfish as the next person, the Wizarding world is just in denial about it." Draco felt a little shaky, saying these things so plainly, but it also was remarkably freeing, this honesty thing. Not that he planned on trying it again, though, because Harry's reaction wasn't going to be exactly fun to navigate.

"If Voldemort took over, it would be bad for everyone, not just my group of friends," Harry said indignantly. "He wants to kill most of the Wizarding community, and I'm trying to stop him, because-"

"Because without an endless string of successes, everyone close to you would no longer care about you. I get it."

"No, because if I don't, the world will fall to shit," Harry said angrily.

Draco sat back coolly. Harry had just made his point for him. "Exactly. You think the world revolves around you. Well I have a news flash for you. There are other far more competent wizards out there who could do exactly what you've done."

This made Harry all defensive. "Oh. So _they'd_ find the sword of Gryffindor? _They_ can speak Parseltongue? _They're_ protected by their dead mother?"

He had a point about the last one, admittedly, but that was superfluous. "See? When it comes down to it, you think you're special," he sneered.

"I am special. But that doesn't mean better. You've spoken with Hermione now. Do you honestly think she'd sit around and let me get a big head?"

Unlikely as it may have been, Harry was gaining the upper hand in this argument. Draco had spoken with Hermione, for extended periods of time, and one thing she did not tolerate was arrogance. But he wasn't about to admit defeat gracefully. "This isn't a debate," he said decidedly. Nothing could be called a debate if Potter won. "You asked me. I told you."

"Okay, but all those reasons are wrong."

"So you claim."

"We could switch back now, if you'd just lose the pride and try a little humility."

"Humility? How very unbecoming," Draco replied coolly, just to see Harry flush with rage. "And it would appear our time is up. How upsetting. I'll see you around." He was out the door before Harry could respond. Despite his losing the debate, Draco still knew how to make a killer exit.

He did a very good job of not thinking about what Harry had said on his way back to the Gryffindor common room. It was surprisingly easy to rationalize Harry's explanations: clearly, he was lying. He'd say anything at this point to get himself changed back. None of his counters were true. There. Done. Just in time for him to sternly tell the Fat Lady "Kerfuffle."

Hermione was sitting in her usual chair by the fire. "How'd it go?" she asked Draco when she saw him.

"Fine. Do you think Harry has a big head?" he inquired.

She squinted. "I mean, I guess it's a little on the on the large size, but it's not obscene."

"No, I mean do you think he's arrogant." Draco almost smiled, but then he caught himself. Malfoys didn't smile often.

"Oh. No. Harry's one of the least arrogant people I know. He's... he's humble, and kind, and he's selfless. Not arrogant at all."

"Sounds like someone has a crush," Draco teased her. He wasn't used to teasing someone. It was strange, and gave him a curious sort of rush.

Hermione glared at him. "Don't be ridiculous. It'd be like having a crush on my brother. I just admire him, that's all. Most of the things he's done would be nearly impossible for anyone else." Her tone had a type of admiration in it that inspired an unfamiliar feeling in Draco. Something like anger, but scared. "He's a true hero, he doesn't even know what he's doing is heroic, most of the time."

That gave him pause. Harry had said something to the same effect when the two of them spoke, that he didn't know how he did what he did. And while Harry was willing to do anything to get his body back, Hermione didn't know a thing about what was going on. She had no reason to lie about Harry, especially since she didn't know Draco was Draco. She believed in the "Altair" that Draco showed her, a mysterious friend of Harry's in some kind of an adventure with him. She didn't know Draco was the closest thing Harry had to a mortal enemy, besides the Dark Lord, that up until recently, he's never said a single thing to Harry that wasn't intended to anger or hurt him.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Yes. Yes, of course I do. Don't you?"

Right, because Draco's supposed to be Harry's friend. "I'm not denying that he's done some amazing things," Draco said reluctantly. "But I just have a difficult time believing he did it all accidentally. If you're such a know-it-all, tell me how that has happened."

"Because, I've seen it myself. I've seen him after each time he's faced Voldemort, and I've seen how surprised, and overwhelmed he was that everyone was calling him a hero. He can be stupid sometimes, and be all giddy with power for a little while, but it's easy to bring him back. Almost too easy. Harry isn't arrogant," she said definitively, then tilts her head. "Why do you ask?"

"It just seemed... I thought maybe it'd be easy for a person to be full of himself, in a position like his. I mean, I don't really know him." In his haste to explain himself, Draco was accidentally more honest than he intended to be. Hermione, being who she was, noticed.

"You don't? I thought you said the two of you were friends?" she frowned.

"No, I said we were in this situation together," Draco reminded her carefully. "That's all. I didn't know him before we switched. Well, obviously I knew who he was, but nothing more." Being careful with his words paid off, always. That one of his father's lessons had proven particularly useful.

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, slightly suspicious, but only for a second. "I suppose you're right. And that's a valid question for someone who doesn't know him. I'm sorry, I overreacted. It's just that loathsome Draco Malfoy always uses that line to condemn Harry for trying to help people," she said, suddenly and briefly mad.

Draco remained calm. "Well, I suppose some people can't stand being second-best," he said, putting his arms behind his head. Only when Hermione looked at him oddly did he realize he was accidentally honest again. Swiftly, he decided it was all her fault, but that didn't take away the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He hoped he'd be back in his own body soon, where nobody forced the truth out of him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: One of you lovely reviewers expressed concern that this would become a Draco redemption story. Let me explain where this story is going in my mind. I think that Draco has _SOME_ redemptive potential, but never the Heel-Face-Turn that most fanfic writers have laid out for him. Draco will never be a "good guy", but that doesn't mean he won't ever cooperate with them or possibly even maybe like one or two of them. That's all I can reveal without totally giving the plot away, but don't worry. Draco will never become the snarky fourth sidekick to Harry. **

**The new NOT Mary Sue character is on her way, I promise, I just have to get everybody where they need to be, resolve a few storylines, and so on. But don't worry, the angst will never end! Angst forever! Happy reading.**

Harry was baffled. The conversation with Draco seemed as if it had gone terribly, yet he had the undeniable feeling that he'd won the argument. So it was very difficult to get some kind of read on how things went, and how to proceed. Draco's reasons for hating him would've been genuine enough, had they had any basis in reality, but they didn't. Harry didn't know where the other boy had come up with his fabricated issues. He hadn't seemed to be lying, but that was easy to fake. What wasn't faked was Draco's cold anger, the way his eyes looked frozen and hard. It was frightening. But then almost immediately, Draco had calmed down again, retreating back into his normal collected demeanor.

It wasn't helping them on their way to getting their bodies back, that was for certain. Harry left the Room of Requirement that night with the distinct impression that Draco Malfoy hated him more than ever before.

He needed someone else to help him work this out in his head. If only Ron and Hermione weren't completely out of the question, then maybe he'd have a chance at sorting things out. Again, he cursed the bloody Slytherins and their cold, dank dungeon. He couldn't take that. So instead, he retreated to the astronomy tower, sitting with his back against one of the walls and his legs straight out in front of him. "Bloody hell," he sighed, borrowing one of Ron's favorite expressions. "This is a mess."

Harry sighed again, deeper, chest heaving. The wind on his face felt wonderful, a welcome change from the dank, clammy air of the dungeons, and the stars above him made a much better ceiling than the cold stone walls. His bed wasn't much softer than the floor he was sitting on, so all in all, the astronomy tower wasn't much worse than his Slytherin bedroom. In fact, it was a lot better, because there was no one pestering him.

Just as he thought that, Harry heard steps on the stairs to the tower. A small figure, outlined against the stars, quietly stepped across the paving stones. Harry didn't move, and the person didn't seem to notice him there. They stood by one of the telescopes, looking up at the stars, waiting. After less than a minute, the sky lit up with brilliant streaks of white light, illuminating the tower and the two people on it, and Harry could see the face of his companion. It was Luna, gazing dreamily up at the lights, her pale hair almost glowing in the celestial light.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she commented.

Harry was shocked, unsure as to whether nor not he should answer. "Um, yes. What is it?" he finally said.

"A meteor shower. Some say it's a good omen. They only happen once every couple of years around here."

"Do you know who I am?" Harry meant it as a question – it came out more like Draco's frequent obnoxious statement.

Luna seemed unfazed. "Yes. You're Draco Malfoy. Some people think you're a Death Eater, you know." Harry looked at her in shock, and Luna smiled faintly. "Was that unsettling?"

Not to Harry, it wasn't, not as much as the idea that had he been Draco Malfoy, she'd have said it to him, as well, as dangerous as that might've proven. "It's just rather honest. I could hurt you." Again, he winced internally at the thought of how that sounded, but it was too late to take that back.

"I don't know if you could," Luna said blithely. "Have you ever hurt someone before?" she inquired, still staring up at the sky.

"I... I'm not sure," Harry admitted quietly. While he personally thought Draco was capable of doing anything he wanted to anyone he wanted, he had no proof of anything, and so, he wouldn't feel right about spreading rumors, even to Luna.

"See?" she said, like that made perfect sense. "I don't actually believe you're as loathsome as everyone says you are."

"Everyone? You don't?"

"Nearly everyone. The wisest ones, at least. And no, I don't. I think you're lonely. It's terrible being lonely." Luna sat down next to Harry, but at a distance that wasn't intrusive.

"Why do you say that?" Harry was beginning to feel as though continuing this conversation would be an invasion of Draco's privacy, but he couldn't see a way to politely cut it off.

"Because you're always by yourself. Even when you're with other people, you look alone. And sad. It seems your father isn't the nicest man, I'd imagine," she said, changing the subject with remarkable ease.

"That's... observant of you."

"When no one's looking at you, it's easier to see some things," she observed with no malice. "And mostly no one looks at me. I'm usually rather ordinary."

"I've never had that opportunity," Harry said honestly, then added, "and you're not ordinary."

"Why, whatever do you mean?" she said, with gentle surprise.

"I think you're very... unusual. You're definitely not like everyone else. And I've heard someone say you were one of the prettiest girls in the school," Harry said awkwardly. This was true – he'd heard himself say it, once, to Hermione. No other girl could imitate Luna's porcelain skin and white-blonde hair, her big, luminous eyes and otherworldly calmness. She was, quite frankly, beautiful, but often that fact was overshadowed by her sometimes odd actions.

Luna was silent at this, and Harry didn't dare look at her face. Finally, she stood. "Thank you," she said simply. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about what you just said." And then she walked back down the stairs. The lights in the sky faded as she went, like they were connected, an astronomical expression of her inner beauty.

Draco remained on the couch long after Hermione left for bed. He couldn't sleep, he could tell just from how he felt lying there on the couch. He'd never been much of a sleeper, especially in his own body. Most of his nights were spent working on his schoolwork. This was no longer an option, since as Harry, his grades had to remain barely average. Thus, his only other option was lying awake in bed, as opposed to lying here, by a warm fire. So he stayed there, hands folded over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling and doing his best not to think.

"Are you alright?" a soft voice asked.

Draco started, and forced his eyes to focus on the face above him. It was the Weasely girl, her hair the same color as the flames. She looked concerned. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Can't you sleep?" she frowned, concerned.

"I'm sure I can, I just don't wish to," he said snottily, then realized with an inward wince that Harry would never say anything like that. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Bad day?"

All the questions were beginning to feel like an interrogation. Somehow, Draco remained civil. "Yeah, kind of. Had to deal with some bleeding idiots, is all." Did Harry ever refer to anyone as bleeding idiots? Draco supposed not, but it was too late.

The girl looked slightly confused. "Are you talking about Snape?"

"No."

"Well, what happened?"

Draco had to give her credit for her persistence. "I was asked a question, and then got yelled at when I answered," he said shortly, just to make her go away. "Alright?"

"By who?" she asked, upset. "Nobody should do that to you."

"Why, because I'm Harry Potter?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, somebody did."

"Don't let it bother you, they're just jealous."

Clearly this was meant to make him feel better. It didn't. "Jealous of what?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Jealous of you," she said, like it should've been obvious.

"Why would anyone be jealous of me? Just because I come off as a self-righteous know-it-all with a God complex doesn't mean everyone-"

"Harry!" she interrupted him. "Stop it. I'm asking a question and trying to be nice. Don't talk that way to me."

The girl looked just as shocked as he felt at this outburst. Immediately, she put her hands over her mouth and stared at him in horror. Draco couldn't recall ever being talked to like that. "I'm so sorry, Harry," the girl said to him, her voice strained. "I must not be feeling well."

"It's fine," he shook his head. "I'm not a god. You should be able to say whatever you want," he admitted reluctantly.

"No, that was terribly rude of me, I'm sorry," she apologized again. Draco was nearly positive she was about to run away and be mortified in private, which bothered him for some reason, so he impulsively reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't," he said. Again, they were equally surprised, and neither of them spoke for a moment. Draco sat up awkwardly, letting go of her wrist, and said, "You only said what was true."

"You're acting very strangely," she said after a second. "Not like yourself. Almost as if..." She didn't finish the thought, but she didn't need to.

"Like I'm a different person," Draco sighed. "Right. Well, I guess people can change. Or things can change them," he finished cryptically. "Well, yelling at me, that wasn't in character for you, either," he said, making a guess that landed.

"Not exactly." One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile.

"Right. Since everyone here is sweet as sugar, all the time," Draco said, easily falling back into his usual sarcasm, then shut his eyes. "Sorry." He expected another reprimand from her, or perhaps an angry look, but neither of those occurred.

"It must've been a really bad day," was all she said.

She was trying to be understanding. It was a foreign gesture to Draco, he didn't know how to handle it. "Yes," he finally said. "It was."

"Do you... do you want to talk about it?" she suggested hesitantly.

"Not particularly, no." That didn't seem like enough, so he added, "That's not going to help with anything, is it."

"It might. Don't you always like to talk to people when you're upset?"

The longer he stayed Harry, the more apparent it became that everyone else knew his job better than he did. "Do I? I guess I do. Great. Sure, then, let's talk," he said with fake cheerfulness. "What are we talking about?"

"No, we don't have to," she said patiently, like he doesn't understand – which he doesn't, but he'd never admit that. "If you've changed your mind and decided that doesn't help, then fine." Obviously, though, she was baffled as to why this would change.

"Well, it kind of didn't change. I'm sure Harry would love to talk to you right now," Draco said, making another decision with the full knowledge that this was an extremely stupid idea, even more stupid than before.

The girl rolled her eyes. "I don't think so," she muttered. Then what he said clicked in her mind. "Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?" she inquired.

"I'm not talking about myself."

"Harry, are you schizophrenic?" she asked, visibly upset.

"No. And I'm not Harry, okay? So you can drop your little hero-worship thing and just act normally," Draco said, rather annoyed.

"Then who are you?" she demanded, suddenly furious. "Who are you, and where's Harry? Is he in danger?"

"No. No, he's fine, he's in the school and he knows what's going on. We're in a bit of a situation, and we're trying to work things out so he gets back in his body, so don't worry about that. But you can't tell anyone about this. Literally. Tell no one. Do you understand?" he said flatly.

"Yes, I won't tell anyone, you have my word. So who are you?" she asked curiously.

"I'm... nobody. Don't worry about it."

The girl – for the life of him, Draco couldn't remember her name, if he'd ever known it – reluctantly accepted this. "So were you telling the truth before, about asking questions and getting yelled at?"

"Yeah." Draco figured it wouldn't make any difference if he told her this much, just enough to get her off his back.

"Who was the someone?"

"Your darling Harry. He's not as brilliant as they say, you know."

She flushed with anger. "Don't talk about him like that. He's done more good things than you could ever hope to."

She had no idea how truthful that statement was. "Perhaps that's true," Draco said coolly. "Goodnight." And with that, he stood, walked past her, and climbed the stairs to his dorm room. He'd lie in peace up in his room, dark and alone, just the way he liked it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Extra-super-long girls chapter! Another clarification for ya'll coming your way – a lot of authors have Ginny and Hermione being instant best friends. Personally, I found no evidence in the books that they were anything but casual acquaintances through Ron. I'm going to try to portray how they become friends. There's definitely friend potential there. **

** Also, a poll: How many years younger than Harry do you see Ginny being? I mean I know the years they're in, but the ages could go either way. Which way do you guys picture? Cuz I could go either way, so I'm going to try to make it more accurate for you guys. **

** Absinthe, by the way, is a usually pale green liquor that can taste very bitter. In the literary world, we call this _DRAMTIC FORESHADOWING_. **

The more time Hermione spent around Altair, the more she became convinced of one thing: that boy was one of the loneliest people she'd ever encountered. At times, she wanted to smack him. At other times, she felt like telling him that everyone didn't hate him, just to see if that would lighten his gloomy expression. Of course she couldn't do either of those things. The two of them were almost always around other people, where she had to treat him like he was Harry, all the while knowing full well that he as another person entirely. The only time they had to themselves was every night after his detention with Harry, and after those sessions, he never felt much like talking. He'd usually lie on the floor or couch and stare into the fire like he was divining something from the flames, responding to her questions with grunts, or sometimes not at all.

It was infuriating. Hermione Granger would not stand for it. One of Altair's habits was a going to sit in the library whenever he could, far in the back, often near the Dark Magic section, she'd noticed. He'd taken to going during lunch recently, baffling Ron, but Hermione understood: Altair was not a people person, and Harry's boisterous friends unnerved him. She wasn't about to force him into anything. Instead, she met him where he was; she left for the library one day during lunch after grabbing a sandwich.

He was right where she expected: farther back in the library than anyone but her ever went, on the floor, his back against the bookcases, staring at the colorful spines in front of him. "Altair," she said. Her voice got lost among the books; she wasn't sure if he heard her. "We need to talk," she said, stepping closer and holding her books close to her chest.

"Everyone needs to talk," he mumbled, sighed, then sat a little straighter. "So talk."

"No, I mean we need to have a conversation. You need to listen and then reply, alright? Don't just sit there and nod occasionally," she said, sounding slightly sharper than she meant to but deciding she didn't care. "Altair. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand." He nodded morosely.

"Good." She sat opposite him, set her books down on the floor, and folded her hands primly. "Alright. Who are you?"

He looked up, surprised, his eyes confused behind the glasses. "I'm... me, I'm-" He almost said something, then caught himself. "I'm me," he finished lamely.

"Yes, and I'm curious: who is that, when you're not busy being Harry?" she asked crisply. "Because you've assured me that you go to Hogwarts, and that you mean Harry no harm, but that's it. You got proof about being with Harry, that is true, but if you so emphatically are a Hogwarts student, why won't you tell me who you are? I mean, what's going on with the codenames and sneaking around?"

Altair looked very betrayed. "I thought we had a nice understanding," he said to her, his tone hurt. "Why so suddenly suspicious?"

"It's just that I've been doing some thinking," she began.

"Oh no," the boy said under his breath.

Hermione ignored this. "And I've decided that if we're going to be friends – or whatever we are – then we should be equals. You know who I am. Why can't I know who you are?"

"It's not so much that you can't as you shouldn't," he said after a moment. "Telling you might possibly the worst idea in the world, besides getting into this whole mess in the first place. But that wasn't my fault."

Hermione ignored the second half of that statement: she was willing to do quite a bit of ignoring to get what she wanted done. "Well, I say I should, and I dare say I am a good deal more experienced with improbable situation protocol."

"There it is," Altair chuckled shortly. "I know the know-it-all in you would pop up eventually."

"Stop trying to make me angry and change the subject!" Hermione said impatiently. "Now come on. Who are you? Tell me right now, or I'll tell everyone everything I know about this."

She stared expectantly at the boy who looked exactly like Harry Potter but acted nothing like him. At this particular moment, he looked far more facetious than Harry ever had. "I imagine that'd be a great deal. Pity you don't tell them _everything_ you know. That could take several hundred years, we might be able to bore them to death."

"Oh, shut up," she said, exasperated. "Just tell me. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Something worse than you'd imagine, I'm sure. But if I told you, you'd know who I am anyway. Alright. I'll tell you," Altair agreed with great reluctance. He sighed deeply, with great feeling, and looked directly into her eyes. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

For the first time in her life, Hermione's prodigious brain short-circuited. She stared, open-mouthed, at Altair – well, Draco actually – for what she was tempted to call an eternity but was, in reality, only a minute and twenty three seconds. Finally, she was able to choke out a few words. "Draco Malfoy?" Not the most articulate sentence, but not bad, considering the shock she just underwent.

"See? You didn't want to know."

"So were you lying about everything?" she demanded, feeling extremely stupid. She did not like this feeling. It made her slightly testy.

"Not quite everything."

"Is Harry safe? Is he okay? And what about being in this together with him, was that true? Tell me exactly what's going on here, or you'll be sorry," she threatened.

"I'm already sorry I told you," he said wearily, slumping again. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how she'd ever believed he was Harry. "So your threat is nonsensical."

"I'll make you more sorry."

"Much better. Harry's fine, he's definitely still in Hogwarts, and we did get into this situation together. Dumbledore gave us Polyjuice potion. I'm him, and he's me right now. So now you know everything. Happy?"

"Yes," Hermione said absentmindedly, because she was busy trying to straighten something out: those things she'd thought about Altair, she'd been thinking them about Malfoy. All the pity for him being lonely, all the wanting to help him, she'd been feeling that for someone who'd done their best to made her life a living hell. That was hard to make that register in her mind. "So you've been living a lie," she said. "How long."

"Two weeks, give or take. God, it feels almost good to say that," he marveled, pulling his legs up to his chest.

"Yeah, that's what us mortals call confiding," Hermione said shortly, pushing her hair back. Infuriatingly, it fell straight back into her face.

"Well, it's icky and gross. I only said it almost felt good, and that was only because I don't have my own body right now. Okay?"

"No need to get defensive," Hermione glared. "You're not the one who was lied to for the past two weeks. And it was worse because you pretended not to be lying. Although I don't know why I'm surprised, really," she added on to the end, under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's kind of what you do for a living, isn't it? You lie."

The boy across from her looked down at the floor briefly, then glanced up at her, his face blank. "Yes, that's what I do."

"But what?" she asked him after a pregnant pause.

"What?"

"There's a 'but' to that statement, what is it?" she repeated in a no-nonsense tone that left no room for argument.

Yet somehow, Draco found some. "There was clearly no but anywhere in my statement. It was complete and to the point."

"There was a tone in your voice that implied there was something you were leaving unsaid. Don't try to argue – I'm positive that I will win."

"That may actually be true," Draco muttered.

"It is. So what's the 'but'?"

Draco heaved a large, dramatic sigh. "You don't have to rescue me," he said coldly. "I'm not some lost puppy, and I don't need rehabilitation."

"Wha-what?" Hermione said, completely taken off-guard.

"You can't save me, alright?" he said flatly. "Just because I happen to have fallen into a wacky situation with the world's favorite hero doesn't mean we're going to become friends in some Parent Trap-esque turn of events. I'm not a different person. Nothing's changed."

His tone was cold, his face indifferent, and each word was carefully chosen and spoken clearly. And for some reason, Hermione felt hurt. She didn't know why – this boy meant literally nothing to her. Altair did, however. She couldn't forget that, and perhaps that's why she almost felt like she was nearly about to cry. "Fine," she said shortly, gathering up her things and getting to her feet. "I was only trying to be nice," she informed him, and walked away, leaving him alone, on the floor among hundreds of books.

The day after her conversation with not-Harry, Ginny had a very strange encounter with Malfoy. She was walking down the stairs to her Potions class, looking down at the ground, when she ran directly into someone coming up the steps. Both of them fell down, the other person cracking their head against the corner of one step. "I'm so sorry!" Ginny cried, horrified. She quickly gathered her books then went to help the other person. At first, she only saw the top of a blonde head of hair, but then he looked up, and she realized she was staring directly into the cold grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. "Are you alright?" she asked, a little more reluctantly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" he replied, looking somewhat worried, which was infinitely more worried than she'd ever seen him look before.

"Yes. You're bleeding."

"What?" He reached up and felt his forehead. Sure enough, there was blood on his forehead, soaking into his white-blonde hair. "Oh. I'll go to Madame Pomfrey's."

He was staring at her in a way that made her feel very self-conscious. "Is there something on my face?" Ginny asked him.

"No." But he kept staring.

Ginny did the only thing she could think of: she walked past him without another word, feeling the whole situation was very strange indeed.

When she later recounted the whole story to Hermione in the library, the other girl had a strange look on her face by the end. "Isn't that so weird?" Ginny finished.

"Yes, that does sound extraordinarily out of character," Hermione nodded absent-mindedly, putting down her quill. And while Hermione was nearly always distracted in the library, this time, it was different. She was looking at Ginny with a somewhat dazed expression on her face.

"Do you think that may have anything to do with the other odd things going on?" Ginny asked, unwilling to flat-out say she'd discovered Harry wasn't himself in case Hermione miraculously didn't know.

"What other odd things?" Hermione frowned.

"Um. Well, like with Harry for example."

The other girl leaned across the table and whispered, "Do you know he's not Harry, then?"

"Yes! You do as well?"

"Yes! And I just found out who he actually is. Do you know that?" Hermione said, excited.

"No. Who?"

Hermione looked both ways, then leaned over even farther and said in a voice barely audible, "He's Draco Malfoy."

"WHAT?" Everyone around them glared at Ginny, who lowered her voice again. "Draco Malfoy has Harry's body? Then who did I run into on the steps?"

"That was Harry," Hermione explained. "Dumbledore made them Polyjuice into each other as punishment."

"When will they switch back?" Ginny asked, worried.

"I don't know. I was going to ask Draco, but then he got all defensive and angry and yelled at me," Hermione said, sounding slightly offended.

"Wait, you were just going to ask him?"

"Yes."

"Have you been talking to him knowing that he's Malfoy?" Ginny said, horrified. "Don't tell me you actually like him."

Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, when I didn't know he was Draco, yes, we talked. I tried to help him keep the secret. He's really terrible about being Harry."

"I guess that makes sense," Ginny said, "since he's Malfoy." She had the uncontrollable urge to giggle, and accidentally did. "I'm sorry. It's just so hilarious that you've been trying to make friends with Draco Malfoy."

The other girl gave her a glare. "Tell me about it."

Ginny felt bad for Hermione; she looked so sad. So she said, "I talked to him, too. Last night. And I couldn't tell who he was."

"Yes, but I should've seen it," Hermione insisted.

"Why, because you know everything? Listen, I know Harry, too, and Malfoy loves to make fun of my entire family. It's one of his favorite subjects. So it seems to me that maybe I should've seen it even sooner than you," she said, quietly upset.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Hermione said almost immediately. "We should've seen it, though."

"I can't believe we didn't! It's just so improbable. And he acted so strangely," Ginny said after a moment. "I mean, how in the world did he manage to seem so... normal?"

"That's exactly what's been bothering me," Hermione nodded. "I don't understand – he seemed so un-sinister. And kind of sad. I just thought he was lonely," she admitted quietly.

"That's exactly what I thought!" Ginny said excitedly, and the two of them shared a smile. "But now that idea seems rather ridiculous," she admitted. "I mean, he's not any of those things, clearly. Right?"

Hermione had to give an unpleasant answer. "I'm not sure."

"So what should we do?" Ginny asked. "I mean, we can't expose them. That would put them both in danger."

"Of course. If Malfoy's father or Voldemort found out, they'd both be in danger. So we can't do that. But we could say we would," she realized. A slightly disturbing evil grin spread across her face.

"Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Yes. I most certainly do. We're going to blackmail him."

A similar smile spread across Ginny's face. For the briefest second, she felt guilty when she thought of the cold, lonely boy from last night by the fire, but then it was gone. There would be plenty of time to be nice to him after they found out the truth.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Alright, this is it. This is the chapter I've been waiting for. I'm super excited, guys. Super. Excited. I like it. I'm not gonna clutter it up with a note. Go read! **

"Draco. DRACO," Pansy Parkinson repeated in a way that seemed like she'd said it several times before.

"Yes? Sorry, I was thinking about the... potions. I don't know. What is it?" Harry finished, mentally slapping himself. He had to stop spacing out – but he just couldn't help it! Draco's life was so boring.

"Didn't you hear what Blaise said to you?" she said.

Harry observed, not for the first time, that her nose looked remarkably like a pig's. "No. What did he say?"

Blaise took over. "I said you seem to be going soft," he said defiantly. "Am I wrong?"

"Yes. Yes, you're definitely wrong," Harry said. He didn't know much about Draco, but he did know the boy's reputation of being the most cold-hearted bastard in the Slytherin house. "Why would you even say that? I'm Draco Malfoy. You know who my father is. How can you doubt my devotion?" That sounded like the pompous type of thing Draco would say.

"No one's doubting your family's devotion to the Dark Lord," another Slytherin said quickly, looking nervous.

"We're just saying, you've changed," Blaise took over.

"How? I'm just as devoted as ever." Definitely not true.

"Well, you still talk big, but you don't follow through. Have you done everything to prove your devotion to the Dark Lord?"

Obviously, the answer was nothing, since Harry had no devotion to the Dark Lord. In fact, he had the opposite of devotion for him. But he had to come up with something. "I've been busy," he stalled.

"Then do something now. Go down into the dark chambers of the dungeons, from behind the Salazar tapestry, and bring back one of the bottles of absinthe hidden in the back cabinet."

Some of the more cowardly children (which is to say, most of them) gasped, and Blaise sat back, very pleased with himself. Harry had the distinct impression that he'd just been given a fairly frightening challenge. He was very glad Gryffindors didn't do this ridiculous kind of posturing, but that didn't exactly help him much now. He saw no other option than to accept, even though he had no idea what absinthe was, where the Salazar tapestry was, or even how to get into these supposed dungeons. "Very well," he said after a second. I'll go. Don't move from this spot until I return – I don't want to have to roam the school looking for you."

"Fine," Blaise agreed reluctantly. So Harry got up and calmly stormed out of the room. One thing he learned from Draco was how to make an exit.

Wisely, he'd had Draco smuggle him a few key items: the Invisibility Cloak for starters, and the Marauder's Map. He was especially grateful for the latter right now, and for the fact that he always kept it on him. He pulled it out as soon as he was sure he was out of sight, muttered the words, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good", and began looking anxiously for any sign of a tapestry with Salazar Slytherin. The tapestries on the map were just thin lines against the walls, but there were no identifying markers, so Harry had to just guess.

Except that Harry didn't guess. He located Hermione on the map – in the library, of course – and immediately made his way to her. He knew he couldn't talk to her in public, but he could do one thing. Carefully, he scribbled a note on a piece of parchment, then calmly walked by her and dropped it onto the table. He saw her out of the corner of his eyes, and also caught a glimpse of long red hair that had to be Ginny, but he didn't dare look any closer. Dramatically, he swished away, confident Hermione would be able to get him a timely answer. To wait, he sat on the floor against one of the bookshelves and began to play with the ridiculous embroidery on the edge of his robe.

Within five minutes, Hermione walked around the corner and straight up to him. "Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Of course you're in the same place. How ironic," she muttered, then got down to business. "You're looking for a tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. It's on the first floor, off a little side hallway near the Great Hall. Do you have the Marauder's Map?"

"Yes." Harry pulled it out.

"Alright. It's right here, do you see? Don't forget," she showed him.

"I won't. Thank you so much," he said, standing.

Hermione stopped him. "Harry, is something wrong? You're not talking."

"No, I just hate the sound of this voice," Harry said, clearing his throat after his statement. "Don't you?"

"It is rather strange," Hermione admitted, smiling in a shy way that Harry had never seen before. The two of them just stared at each other for about a minute. Then Hermione said bashfully, "But I guess it's okay." She paused, searching for words. "Be safe, whatever you're doing."

Harry appreciated how she didn't ask what he was doing – it'd be hard to explain it. "I will," he said. "Thank you."

And with that, he left her behind, because he was frightened if he stayed, he'd never be able to make himself go.

Draco didn't leave his place deep in the library after he frightened Hermione away. It was the best thing for him to do, he knew that. Perhaps not by the classical definition of "best", because what he did wasn't exactly nice, or even morally sound. But he knew, deep in the blackest part of what used to be his heart, that what he did was for the best. He couldn't just be one of them, spill his guts, experience a sudden change of heart, and be a role model. Ugh. Just those two words together disgusted him.

So the last thing he needed was one bushy-haired know-it-all to take it upon herself to _change_ him, or make him "better". He was fine the way he was, and he liked it, thank you very much, without any busybody getting involved.

He sat there in the silence for nearly an hour, during which time he did something unusual and considered possibly maybe not hating Harry as much as he did. Really, though, he couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for it. He had to admit it: being Harry wasn't all that terrible. He had a room that wasn't damp and cold. He was the class favorite in every one of his classes. Hermione did the majority of his homework for him. A lot of time was freed up in his schedule. Really, if he didn't have to lie about everything and constantly attempt to be kind and compassionate, he'd like this deal.

But it was dangerous. If anyone found out – and someone inevitably would, nothing that big could be kept a secret – and if that person were to tell the Death Eaters, or even the Ministry, one or both of them could be killed. This wasn't safe, and if Draco had one key value to stand on, it was self-preservation.

For this reason, even he had to admit the wisdom in getting his own body back. There was only one insurmountable obstacle to this goal: there was no way he'd feel anything but smoldering hatred towards Harry Potter. Nothing could convince him – no merciful act of kindness, none of Harry's supportive little friends, not even a miracle. Nothing would change his mind.

This was the conclusion he arrived at after his hour of thinking. So with that, he stood and slipped out of the library, avoiding everyone else so he didn't have to talk. He had an obnoxious hour of class, with boring Professor Binns. Draco didn't even bother to bring his book anymore, and he barely paid attention. He already knew all the facts, from reading the textbook. The only thing unusual about this class was the fact that Hermione was late. Even more shockingly, she had no pass. Luckily, Harry, Ron, and her always sat in the back, so nobody noticed her absence besides Draco and Ron.

"Where were you?" Ron whispered.

"Nowhere," Hermione replied smartly, then gave Draco a significant look. "I ran into Malfoy," she added pointedly.

Ron immediately launched into a whispered diatribe, detailing exactly everything wrong with that particular member of the Slytherin house. It was hard for Draco not to react, but luckily, he'd had plenty of practice. Patiently, he waited out Ron's speech, ready to nod and smile at the end, but Hermione cut Ron off.

"Do you know what's behind the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin?" she asked Draco. "The one by the Great Hall?"

Draco knew exactly what was behind that tapestry: the entrance to the dungeons, the ones that weren't the Slytherin's dormitories. The dangerous ones that were only for the disturbed or suicidal. He couldn't imagine any reason why squeaky-clean Hermione Granger would want to go down there. "No idea," he said, shrugging.

Hermione glared at him throughout the entire rest of the class, so Draco made up an excuse and left early, making several sharp turns just in case she had any bright ideas about following him.

The only thing he could think to do was go to the Room of Requirement. Everything else completely bored him, he wouldn't talk to anyone, he couldn't go anywhere public where Hermione might find him, he had no evil plans to make, and no one would miss him if he disappeared for a couple of hours. Besides, the idea of a room that gave him exactly what he wanted was irresistible. Distracted, he made his way up to the seventh floor and strolled past the room three times, thinking "I need a place to help me decide what to do."

He didn't notice that the wall had had a door in it before the first time he walked down the corridor, and so he didn't realize the room he was walking into was meeting someone else's needs and would most likely have another person in it. Thus, he was understandably surprised to see someone in the room, and he was somewhat upset to discover that someone was no less than Harry Potter.

"Be quiet," Harry said softly, pulling a curtain around one corner of the room. Draco vaguely noticed that Harry was covered in dust and looked strange, even taking into account how odd he looked in Draco's body most of the time. "Draco, I need your help."

"Oh, we're on a first-name basis here? Exciting. Why am I being quiet?" Draco asked, dramatically whispering. "And why are you here?"

"Blaise Zabini made me go down into the dungeons – the dark, scary ones – and bring him back a bottle of absinthe to prove that I'm still devoted to Voldemort," Harry began, stumbling over his words.

"Zabini? Please. He's never done anything that brave in his life," Draco snorted. "Things are really falling apart without me there, aren't they."

"Sure, they're collapsing entirely. So I got directions from Hermione and went down there," Harry continued. Draco was surprised – even he had never gone down into the dungeons. There was the Gryffindor daring at work, he supposed. "Long story short, I made it back into the rather freaky dark room filled with dark bottles which I figured was the absinthe, and I was going to grab one and get out of there, but then I saw a door in the back, and it sounded like someone was trapped back there, so-"

"GOD," Draco groaned. "Don't tell me, Potter. You went to investigate and you discovered some kind of monster, which you defeated, and now you want me to promise not to tell anyone so the Dark Lord doesn't find out and have yet another reason to want you dead." While making this impressive tirade, Draco completely forgot about the whole 'be quiet' thing, and so had raised his voice slightly. If, by slightly, one meant substantially, that is.

"Be quiet," Harry said, somehow managing to be quiet himself and yet very insistent. "And no. That's not what happened, exactly. I went to investigate and I discovered a person."

"A stray student? I don't think I remember seeing Longbottom for a few days," Draco commented offhand.

"No. I found... well, just look. But be quiet." Harry led him to the mysterious curtain and pulled it back just a little, enough for Draco to peer behind it.

What he saw completely surprised him. "Harry. You kidnapped a small child?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: No note, guys. Sorry for the cliffhanger!**

"No, Malfoy," Harry said wearily. "I did not kidnap a small child."

"Really? Correct me if I'm wrong, but is there or is there not a child behind that curtain?" Draco said patiently.

"There is, but-"

"And does she or does she not belong there?" Draco continued.

"Well, I don't think she does. But I don't think she really belongs anywhere," Harry finally completed his sentence. "I mean, I found her in the dungeons, that's not exactly where wanted children spend their time. How did she even get there, I wonder."

"Can you be a little more specific, please? How did you find her?" Draco says, sounding slightly baffled.

"Alright. I went back into the other room, and she was in there, on a cot. And there was nothing else in there, just spiders and bed and her. So I brought her here for now." The explanation sounded idiotic when he said it out loud, but it was one hundred percent true. That's what happened.

"Really." Draco took another peek behind the curtain.

"Yes. What should I do with her?" Harry asked, somewhat desperate.

"You're asking me this?"

"Um, yes."

"Do I look like I like children? No, don't get me involved in this," Draco said emphatically. "This is your problem."

"No, it's definitely yours, too. You saw her. Help me deal with her," Harry ordered. He doubted it would actually work, and he knew Draco was possibly the worse choice to help care for a child, but he had literally no other idea what to do. Hermione didn't need another burden from him, and Ron would be absolutely less than helpful as well.

Draco seemed to actually be wavering. He risked another look. "She needs to be washed," he commented distastefully.

"I carried her up from the first floor. You're not telling me anything new," Harry said, deadpan.

Draco looked genuinely impressed. "Was that backtalk?" he said, then clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Wonderful."

"You're avoiding the question."

"No, I'm not. You're in denial. I answered. No."

Perhaps he wasn't wavering, after all. "Fine." Harry inched towards the door while Draco watched suspiciously. "I have to take Blaise the bottle. Watch her while I do that. Great. Thanks," Harry said quickly, grabbing the bottle he had stashed on the floor by the door and leaving. Draco wouldn't let a little girl stay in a room by herself, Harry was sure. Not even he was that heartless.

And Harry really did have to give Blaise the bottle. He wanted to stop the dominance competition before it got any worse. Quickly, he made his way down to the Slytherin common room, slammed the bottle down on the table in front of Blaise. "There. Are you convinced now? Now stop trying to be anything but a pathetic imitation of me."

Those words, if said to a Gryffindor, would've certainly inspired a fistfight at the very least, but Harry was counting on Slytherin cowardice to keep Blaise in his sea.

It did. Blaise didn't move, looking suitably put in his place, so Harry was free to leave, and he did. But he didn't go right back to the Room of Requirement. He took a detour to the library, where the Map showed Hermione to still be. Obnoxious as he was, Draco had been correct: the girl definitely needed a bath. And while there was a bathtub in the Room, Harry was not going to handle that. Only one thing could be done.

Harry made his way over to her table and whispered, "Hermione. I need you. We can't talk here."

Without asking questions, she took him back into the stacks, where the only thing he could see in every direction were shelves and stacks of books. "What is it?" she said once they were completely alone.  
>"I... wait. I'm Harry, not Draco. We switched bodies," Harry said, realizing she didn't know. She seemed to be taking it rather well – she didn't even look surprised.<p>

"Harry, I know. Draco told me almost two weeks ago," she said patiently, looking slightly worried. "Did he not say?"

It took a second to process this, but then Harry understood what was going on. Of course. Draco had played them. His motive was admittedly unclear – what did he have to gain? – but it was obvious. They'd both been lied to. The only thing that bothered him was how much he felt betrayed. "Alright," Harry said, pulling himself together. "So you know. Good. Fantastic. That means you can help. I found a girl in the dungeons beneath the school, a little girl. She only looks about nine or so."

"Is she alright?" Hermione asked, worried.

"I don't know, I didn't look. I felt weird. Will you come and help me?"

"Alright. Do you have the Invisibility Cloak?" she said, businesslike, and Harry was very happy he chose to bring her in. She always had a plan.

"Yes, here." He pulled it out of his robes.

"Alright. I'll follow you to her. Should I bring anything?"

"No. She's in the Room of Requirement, there's everything we need. Oh. And Malfoy's there," he finished quickly, half-hoping she wouldn't hear.

She did, of course. "What? You left a little girl all alone with _him_? How did that ever appear to be a good idea to you? Are you mental?" Hermione did not wait for an answer, she just took off, slipping under the cloak, shimmering, then disappearing. All Harry could do was follow, privately rejoicing that he was not Draco at this particular moment.

Damn Harry Potter. Damn him to hell, Draco thought for the thousandth time. On top of everything else he did, now he left Draco alone with this sleeping girl who he found mysteriously in the dungeons. There was no way he'd do Harry Potter a favor.

It would be very easy for Draco to walk out and leave her alone. What trouble could she possibly get into while she was asleep? She'd be fine, and Harry would be back soon. Draco could definitely leave.

He had to look behind the curtain once more. He pulled aside the pale blue fabric and looked once more at the little girl in the bed. Her face was serene, but very, very dirty, smeared with dirt and what Draco suspected was dried blood. Her hair looked dark blonde, but her eyebrows were almost white. She was covered with a oatmeal-colored blanket that made her look even paler. Overall, an exceedingly helpless looking thing.

Draco glared, going to pull the curtain shut again when the little girl opened her eyes. They were shockingly, brilliantly blue, so dark it was nearly purple. Most disturbingly, they weren't looking at anything, just staring unnervingly straight up at the ceiling. Almost reflexively, Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. "_Ennervate_," he said sharply, saying the first relevant spell he could think of. Luckily, it appeared to look. The girl gasped, stiffening, then turned and looked directly at him.

"Um. Hello. What's your name?" Draco said coolly, quietly resolving to kill Harry the next time he saw him. He had no idea what do in this situation.

She stared at him blankly, her expression unreadable, at least to Draco. Finally, she shook her head slightly, eyes never leaving him.

"You don't remember?" Draco hazarded a guess. The girl nodded. "Can't you talk?" he said, rather impatiently. He had no experience dealing with children, nor did he want to gain any.

The girl suddenly shuddered, shaking the bed, and then she was still again, looking at him. She shook her head again.

"Can you... do you know sign language by any chance?" he suggested. He didn't know it, but he was absolutely positive Hermione would. He'd just have to get her involved.

But the girl shook her head again, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Is that amusing? I didn't think so. I've seen people's faces that were funnier," Draco said, half to himself.

Her smile grew a little.

"Really? That was a medium joke, at least. Nothing? Alright. How about you go back to sleep now," Draco said, uncomfortable. He reached for the curtain to pull it closed again, but she moved to stop him. She couldn't quite reach the curtain, though, so her tiny hand hung there in the air, streaked with dirt and dust. In the back of his mind, Draco noticed there was dried blood under her fingernails. "Okay," he said slowly. "Okay. I won't close the curtain. But I don't exactly want to continue this one-sided conversation."

The girl looked at him inscrutably, not reacting to what he said, but he didn't move. "Are you hurt?" he asked, the question just popping into his mind. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

She shook her head again, the only communication she seemed capable of, so Draco stayed there, leaning against the wall and sighing. "Do you know why you were in the dungeons?" he suggested, just trying to make conversation. He didn't do well with awkward silences when they weren't under his control.

She didn't respond to this at all, just staring at him. Rarely had anyone made Draco feel as uncomfortable as this small child was making him right now. His small talk repertoire was officially worn out, so he just stood there and awkwardly looked at the wall. He was almost relieved when Hermione stormed in.

Almost.

"Draco Malfoy," she said loudly, and Draco had the impression that had she known his middle name, she'd say that, too. "Please inform me as to the reason why you decided not to inform Harry that I was aware of the Polyjuice spell. I think it only fair to warn you that if I don't think your reason is valid, I might just kill you."

Draco started to laugh, then realized that Harry, who'd entered behind her, looked worried, not amused. "Oh, you're serious," he said, surprised. "Oh. Well, I didn't want to unnecessarily distract him," Draco said, quickly thinking up a story and hoping it stuck. "He was already prancing about and whining about how much he wanted to talk to you, and I couldn't exactly tell him to sod off. The Chosen One doesn't say that," Draco said, glaring at Harry. "So I just didn't tell him, or he'd never leave me alone about it."

He watched their expressions carefully, trying to decide whether or not to add more to the story. But it seemed they bought it, at least for now. "Fine," Hermione said flatly. "Fine. Let's just do this. Where's the girl?" Before anyone answered, she was striding towards the curtain and pulling it back. Draco stepped back, hastily getting out of her way, and he nearly tripped. While they were talking, the girl had gotten out of bed and gone to stand behind Draco's legs.

"Jesus," he said, putting his hand on the girl's back to steady her, since she almost fell when he did. She cringed away from him, so he backed off and let Hermione take over.

She knelt in front of the girl and said gently, "Hi. I'm Hermione. What's your name?"

"She doesn't talk," Draco commented. "And she doesn't know sign language."

Hermione gave him an aggravated look, then turned back to the girl. "Can you write?" she asked. Instantly, Draco wanted to hit himself. Why hadn't he thought of that? Yes, sure enough, the little girl nodded bashfully, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Quickly, Hermione conjured up a quill and piece of parchment, then gave them both to the little girl. "What's your name?"

All three of them watched her slowly write _I doN't kNow._

"Okay, well how did you get into the dungeons underneath Hogwarts?" Hermione said, slightly frustrated, but hiding it well.

_They put me there to ask me questioNs_.

"Who's they?" Harry jumped in.

_The bad maN_.

"What did he-"

Before Hermione could finish the question, the girl continued writing, scribbling the words out. _Mask. IN a mask. MaN had a mask. Bad. Bad mask. Bad maN. DidN't meaN it. I didN't..._ The more she wrote, the more illegible it became, until it dissolved into meaningless marks.

Hermione and Harry seemed to be shocked by this, too surprised to move, so Draco reached out and took the quill from the little girl. Obviously, at least obviously to him, she had to be stopped before she worked herself into a psychotic break. If there was one thing Draco understood, it was crazy. He could work with crazy. "Alright. We'll come back to that," he said, taking charge.

Then she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, and Draco panicked, just a little bit. He could NOT handle crying little girls – or crying in general, for that matter. "Hermione. There's a bath in that room. Why don't you..."

"Right. Right, of course. Okay. Yes," Hermione took a second to get ahold of herself. She seemed almost scared of the girl now, after what just happened, but she still reached out to her and lead her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

"What just happened?" Harry said as soon as the door was closed.

"Oh, you mean that mute Exorcism reenactment?" Draco asked, playing dumb for a second then leveling a glare at the other boy. "She was traumatized, Potter, what do you expect to happen when you ask her about being kept in a basement?"

"Why couldn't she just say it though?"

Harry, of course, didn't understand. He wasn't being difficult, he just didn't get it. Draco sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Most people just don't come out of traumatic experiences completely unfazed like you do, Potter," he said sharply. "Especially nine year old girls."

"But why couldn't she stop writing? Was she possessed or something?" Harry said, still baffled.

"Probably not. Just traumatized." Draco shrugged. "Don't worry. With a few years of intense therapy, an eating disorder, and a cycle of most likely abusive boyfriends, she'll be over it in a jiffy."

Harry didn't seem to find that amusing. "Be serious."

"What is your big obsession with solemnity?" Draco demanded. "Is that why your life is eventful, because that's the only way you can get any excitement into your life?"

Harry didn't bother to answer that. He seemed to be starting to pick up on sarcasm more often. "I just want to know if she's okay."

"Why, because of some feeling of self-imposed responsibility?" Draco scoffs. "I don't think that's going to fly in the custody battle."

"Draco!" Harry shouted, taking Draco by surprise. "Tell me."

Of course he'd need someone to tell him, he couldn't just figure it out, because he'd never had any personal hardship to work off of. Draco was disgusted with Harry. "I don't think I can," he said, shaking his head.

"Can't or won't?" Harry challenged.

"Can't," Draco said with finality, and surprisingly, that was that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: I use a spell called _Veritas_ in this chapter, and I'd like to give credit where credit is due. This spell and its effects were borrowed nearly exactly from the Draco Trilogy, by Cassandra Claire. (Ironic, because it was banned for plagiarism.) Anyway, I felt like it really fit with the world and characters, and that it would actually exist, so I borrowed it. I hope that's okay with everyone, and that you don't think I'm evil now. **

As strange as it had been to find the little girl in the cold, damp dungeons, it was even stranger and more frightening to see her writing like she was possessed, those weird and disjointed phrases. Harry had never seen anything like that, not even with his experience with these sorts of things. It unnerved him.

And it annoyed him how Draco was being difficult. Harry was just trying to understand what was going on. And Draco was so completely not open to telling him any of the insight he apparently had to the situation that Harry decided not to push it.

Hermione seemed to be taking forever in the bathroom. The wait was nearly interminable for Harry, especially with the awkward tense silence. A thickness was present in the air that Harry found extremely uncomfortable. "Sorry I left you here with her," Harry apologized, trying to alleviate some of it. "I just couldn't think of any other way."

"It's fine. Better than her being left with you," Draco muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, offended.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Harry wanted to ask more questions, even though he knew he'd get no answers from the cold boy wearing his body. Perhaps luckily, Hermione finally made her reappearance.

"How is she?" Harry said instantly.

"She's fine," Hermione answered vaguely.

"What the hell does fine mean?" Draco snapped. Both of them looked at him, surprised. "What? I don't do well with other people making vague statements at my expense. I won't apologize for who I am."

"Is she hurt?" Harry asked, ignoring Draco.

"See, that's the thing. I can't find any injuries on her at all, but there's definitely blood," Hermione said, doubtful.

"What does that mean?" Harry was definitely worried now. Hermione was never doubtful; she always knew exactly what was going on.

"Magic." Harry and Hermione stared at Draco in surprise again. Nobody ever got to the answer to a question faster than Hermione did, yet Draco just had. "Oh, so am I not allowed to know things at all?" Draco sighed.

"What type of magic?" Harry asked, right as Hermione said,

"How do you know?"

Draco looked dryly amused. "What kind of magician are you, Harry? You don't know about healing magic? It's been used on you multiple times. And you," he turned to Hermione. "You don't need to know how I know."

"Then how can we be sure you're not lying?"

Harry was very impressed with how Hermione was not taking no for an answer from Draco. Personally, Harry always gave up after one shot. Talking with Draco always made him feel unsettlingly like he was arguing with his own reflection.

"Because I said I'm not," Draco said, like that meant something.

"Oh, and we're just supposed to believe this? Like I believed when you said that Harry knew about me knowing? Or like Harry believed when you said I didn't?" Hermione demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at Draco in a way that made Harry slightly frightened.

Draco, for once, was speechless. "You may have a point," he finally admitted. "Although I only did that for both of your own good."

"I don't care about your reasons. I need proof."

It was plainly obvious that Hermione would settle for nothing less, though Harry could think of no way for Draco to solve this.

Clearly, Draco could think of no way to solve it, either. "Uh... well, I mean, you could just..." But he didn't finish the sentence.

Suddenly, Harry felt very uncomfortable.

There was no way Draco was getting out of this. Hermione wasn't going to fall for any tricks; he couldn't lie his way out of this one. There was also no way for him to convince her he was telling the truth, even if he decided to do that for once.

"What if I can't prove it?" he asked, testing the waters.

"I think you'll be able to, if you value everything you hold dear."

That was actually very good threat delivery – just vague enough to be irrefutable, but with a cold, heartless voice that resonated with resolve. Draco needed her to be on his side. He was still Harry; he needed his cover. He was officially out of options.

"Alright. Fine," he said, annoyed. "Use _Veritas_."

"What?" Harry frowned. He, of course, was clueless about dark magic. But Hermione caught what he meant, and she was horrified.

"Draco, no. That's really dark magic," she protested.

"What is it?" Harry repeated.

Draco didn't mind keeping him in the dark, so he ignored him. "Yes, but it's the only way you'll be completely convinced I'm telling the truth. I can't lie under the _Veritas_ curse. That's the only way."

"No," Hermione said decidedly.

"If you won't do it to me, I'll do it to myself," Draco told her.

"Excuse me, but can either of you tell me exactly what exactly this _Veritas_ curse is?" Harry interrupted. He seemed a genuinely annoyed to be left out, so Hermione took a second to explain.

"If you put the _Veritas_ curse on someone, they have to tell the truth, no matter what they ask you. And I've heard it's really painful," she said, directing that last part at Draco. "You don't really want me to do that."

Draco rolled his eyes, pointed his wand at his own chest, and said, "_Veritas_." Instantly, it felt like giant hooks embedded themselves into his chest and pulled him open, exposing his heart. "Go," he said, his voice strained. "Ask."

Hermione looked horrified. "Why would you do that? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine. I've had it done before. Ask the questions you want." Now, Draco had fallen against the wall, and he was having trouble thinking straight. If he could, though, he'd be regretting his decision to put himself under a curse.

"Okay! Fine. How do you know about the healing magic? Is it real?"

"Because I've had it used on me. Yes, it's real. And I don't know how I can tell, I just can." The truth felt foreign on his lips. He didn't like it, but he was helpless to resist.

"Did you really lie to us to help us?" Hermione asked.

He hadn't thought that far in advance, that she'd ask other questions he probably wouldn't like to answer. "Sort of. I wanted Harry to shut his bleeding mouth, but I also didn't want you to know I was me. I didn't want you hate me. Damn." He definitely didn't want to say that. "Take this curse off of me."

"Do you hate Harry?" Hermione continued.

"Yes. Hermione." His words were almost incoherent.

"_Finite Incantatum_," she murmured, and Draco took a deep breath.

"What took you so long?" he said, sliding down the wall to the floor and holding his heart with both hands.

"Sorry. I believe you. Are you okay?" she said, worried.

"Yeah, of course. No damage. I'll be fine. Do you believe me now?"

Hermione didn't answer that, because she'd noticed the little girl was standing behind her and looked frightened. "How long were you standing there?" she asked, forgetting the girl didn't talk. All the child did was point at Draco, hiding behind her curtain of blonde hair. "Oh, he's okay," Hermione said reassuringly.

The girl slipped out of Hermione's grasp and went over to Draco, putting her tiny pale hand on top of Draco's heart. Then she took his hand and started tracing letters on his palm. "Wait, start again," Draco said, sitting up straighter and concentrating, so she did. Draco realized after a couple reiterations that she was spelling _Veritas_ over and over again into his hand. "Did you see her put the curse on me?" he asked her.

The little girl shook her head, then started spelling into his hand again. _Hedidthattome._ "He did that to you," Draco repeated, and she nodded, putting her hand over her own heart. "The man with the mask?" Another nod.

"What did he want you to tell him?" Hermione asked.

The little girl looked at her, then turned back to Draco and started spelling again. This one took a couple tries for Draco to decipher. But finally, he got it. "She doesn't remember," he summarized. What she'd actually said was more along the lines of _I don't know. When I try to think of it, it hurts._ Draco didn't know what she was talking about, but for some reason, he didn't share what she said verbatim. It was probably just his old habit of dishonesty coming out again.

"Great. Okay. So. What are we going to do with her?" Harry said.

"Can't she just stay in the Room of Requirement?" Hermione suggested. "Except that when we have classes, she'll be alone, and that's not okay."

"We should tell Dumbledore," Harry said. "Right? He'll know what to do. And we did find her in Hogwarts. That means he should deal with her."

Draco and Harry were diametrically opposed human beings. They never agreed on anything so far, but annoyingly, Draco discovered there truly was a first time for everything. The three of them were not equipped to raise a child, at all, even if Hermione and Harry got over their betrayal and worked together with him. So Draco reluctantly said, "Alright. Let's tell the bearded babbler what's going on."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Super-long chapter! I love it! **

"I just don't understand it," Hermione said for possibly the millionth time. "Why would Dumbledore have her live with Draco?"

"I'm sure it's just because he lives in the dungeons," Harry sighed, also for the millionth time. "And she really liked him. It's not favoritism, Hermione. You should just trust him."

"Who, Draco?" Hermione snorted. "Yes, he's very trustworthy."

"No, I meant Dumbledore," Harry said patiently. "But I don't understand why you got so upset before. Back in the Room of Requirement, I mean. Did he do something to you?" he asked her.

"No," she said with great dignity. "I just can't stand the fact that he lied to me, that's all. Even after the two weeks where we at least pretended to be friends."

"Yes, but Hermione, he's Draco Malfoy. Lying is kind of what he does."

Hermione looked offended. "Harry, he's proved he can change. The two of you switched back, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but that's completely different. He didn't really change, he just hates me enough less that he got his body back. It was a technicality, and I'm pretty sure nothing's going to change, okay?"

"Don't be so mean to him!" Hermione scolded.

Harry had the distinct impression that she'd been the mean one at the beginning of this conversation. He couldn't quite remember when their roles had switched, or how; he just knew her scolding was completely undeserved. But he didn't argue with Hermione Granger. "Alright, fine," he conceded. "We're going to have to get along with him anyways to take care of the girl. She really needs a name," he commented.

"I know, I made a list," Hermione said crossly, slamming several books down from one pile into another on the table before her. "Let's go eat." She stood, not bothering with the books. No one ever had stolen her books.

Harry stood too, sighing. He didn't understand what was going on, but then, most of the time with Hermione and Ginny he had no idea what was going on. He had a sneaking suspicion he there was no rhyme or reason to their actions, but he never could say that. Instead, he followed her down to the Great Hall.

Hermione sat down in a huff at the Gryffindor table, then craned her neck to look over at the Slytherin section, then angrily began to butter a roll. "Where is he?" she finally demanded, stuffing her mouth full of bread.

"Do you mean Draco?"

"Yes, of course I mean Draco. We haven't seen him since Dumbledore's office. That's nearly forty six hours ago," Hermione said, like that fact was one of great importance. "What could they possibly be doing?"

"What Dumbledore said; they've gotta see if there's any dark magic on her. It probably takes a while to get the Order members here. There's a lot they need to do. And it's fine. We've got things to do, too," Harry said reassuringly.

"Yeah, it's fine," Hermione agreed, although it clearly wasn't fine to her. "And we have things to do. What exactly do we have to do, again?"

"Uh, tell Ron, for one," Harry said. "Really, did you forget about him? He's supposed to be our third best friend, but we didn't tell him that I switched bodies with Draco Malfoy."

"Harry, we couldn't, it wasn't safe."

"Well, now we can. And we should tell him."

"Tell who?" Ginny asked, sitting next to Hermione.

"Tell us?" George suggested, sitting on one side of Harry.

"Tell us," Fred snorted, sitting on Harry's other side. "We already know, of course," he said patronizingly, patting Harry on the shoulder. "We know everything."

"Just because you're almost graduated doesn't make you omnipotent," Ron grumbled, plopping down on the other side of Hermione.

"Oh really? We know you had a dream last night about the Weird Sisters," Fred said conversationally. "What was it he kept repeating, George?"

"I do believe it was-"

Ron cut them off. "Did you put a listening spell on my room again?" he said angrily. "Mum told you not to do that anymore."

"Mum isn't here, is she," George commented. "And she isn't going to hear about this from you. Right?" he hinted, somewhat dangerously.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Stop it, both of you, leave Ron alone, or else I'll tell Mum you were the ones who enchanted her clock this summer."

"No need for that," Fred said hastily. "That's too far."

"Fred, I'm beginning to think we trained far too accomplished a blackmailer," George said admiringly. "I'm impressed."

"What did they do to the clock?" Hermione interrupted to ask.

"They charmed each hand to point the opposite way. When we were asleep, it'd point to dead. When Dad went to work, it'd point to Hogwarts. She was convinced for nearly a month that he was having an affair with one of our professors," Ginny giggled, then turned abruptly serious. "And if you keep it up, she'll know exactly whose fault that is."

Fred and George both put their hands up. "Alright," Fred said, "We won't listen in to Ron's dreams about a certain-"

"Stop!" Ron protested.

Harry knew the twins, and he knew they wouldn't just stop, no matter what threats were delivered. He readied himself to get involved on Ron's behalf, but it turned out not to be necessary. Fred and George were suddenly distracted. "Oy, is that git Malfoy coming over here?" George demanded, pointing.

Harry noticed with annoyance that Hermione jumped at his words and looked around. Sure enough, though, it was Draco sweeping towards them in his black robes. And then next to him, in her own smaller robes, was the girl. Harry hadn't noticed before, but her hair was the precise shade as Draco's, her skin the same deathly pale, but her eyes were a shocking green, while Draco's were silver. And both of them were undeniably walking straight over towards Harry.

"Hello," Draco said formally once they were within earshot, inclining his head. The situation was very awkward with the Weaselys all watching.

"Hi," Harry said, seeing how Hermione blushed and glanced at Draco. "What do you want?"

"They finished checking Abbie, she's okay," Draco said, and Harry realized Draco's hand was on the girl's shoulder.

"Abbie?" Ginny frowned.

"Short for Absinthe. I had to call her something," Draco defended.

"Hold on," Ron said, holding his hands up. "What's going on with you two and Malfoy? Are you friends or something?"

"No," Draco said immediately.

"Absolutely not," Harry shook his head.

Hermione conspicuously said nothing.

Draco was very uncomfortable, standing there at the table full of Gryffindors. It was slightly more comfortable to have Abbie there at his side, but only slightly, because the glares the Weasely boys were giving him were nearly capable of melting steel. Luckily, Draco was stronger than steel. "Then if you're not friends, why are you here?" Ron said, very suspicious. He looked from Harry to Draco in confusion.

Harry sighed. "Can Hermione just tell him?" he asked Draco.

Reluctantly, Draco nodded. The danger was over now, so he had no valid reason to stop Harry, and really no invalid ones, either, besides blind hatred, which was never very convincing.

"Tell him what?" George frowned.

"We want to know," Fred added.

"Can I tell them?" Harry asked Draco.

"Tell the entire world, while you're at it," Draco said crossly. "It doesn't exactly matter now, does it." He stood there and watched Hermione and Harry whispering the situation into various people's ears. The reaction expressions ranged vaguely thoughtful to completely disgusted, so Draco knew things would quickly get interesting.

"I'm surprised," George said, grinning. "You certainly fooled me on the three occasions I saw Harry from a distance. I'm sure that, had we not been completely otherwise occupied, you'd continue to deceive us. Good work."

"Bloody hell," Ron said, horrified. "I talked to _you_ for two weeks like you were Harry. Did I say something embarrassing. Oh my God, I can't remember," he said after a moment of thought. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?" he demanded of Harry. "That's a really big deal!"

"I know, that's why he couldn't say anything," Ginny tried say, but that just made Ron angrier.

"SHE knew too? Did you try to purposefully to tell everybody but me?" Ron said, glaring at both of his best friends.

"Yay. Conflict," Draco smiled sweetly at the table. It was so nice to hear them fighting because of him, it was just like old times.

Except, of course, for the little girl grabbing his hand and spelling into it. He'd gotten rather used to it over the past two days, so it didn't take a lot of concentration to decipher her words. _Don't be mean_. _They're nice_. "You don't know what you're talking about," he told her.

"Why, what did she say?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," Draco claimed, and Abbie shot him an impressive glare for an adorable little girl. Still glaring, she took the closest hand to her, which happened to be Ginny's, and tried to write something. It took Ginny several tries to get it correct.

"She said we're nice, and she wants to know who we are," she finally said deciphered.

"What, can't she talk?" Ron said sullenly.

"No, Ronald, as a matter of fact she cannot," Hermione answered pertly. "Alright, well I'm Hermione, you know me," she said to Abbie.

"And you know me, Harry Potter," Harry added.

"I'm Ginny, and these are my brothers, Ron, Fred, and George," Ginny said kindly, smiling at the little girl. "Fred and George are twins, obviously."

"Great," Draco said, pulling Abbie back from Ginny. "Now that you've met the school's charity case-"

"-and you've clearly already met the school's arrogant ass," George inserted quickly.

George took over. "You've pretty much covered the entire spectrum."

Before Draco could respond, Hermione deliberately changed the subject. "So who from the Order came to check Abbie for curses?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," Draco said. He was very glad his calm façade was so firmly in place. Otherwise, he might've let his voice shake. He still distinctly remembered being bounced up and down as a weasel by someone who pretended to be Mad-Eye, and that was not something he'd enjoyed. Also, he wasn't very a big Mad-Eye fan before that, seeing as the man did his best to expose-slash-kill every member of Draco's family, including Draco.

"Oh. I wonder why he didn't come to see us," Harry said, sounding hurt.

"He said he didn't have the time," Draco said. "Something about going to the trial of a psychotic woman, and also something about pink, but I'm not exactly sure what he meant. And he said he couldn't find a single thing amiss. Although, he _did_ back up the whole healing magic thing," Draco said, raising his eyebrows in a gloating manner. "So."

There was a brief pause, then Ginny said, "So are you just going to stand there, or will you sit down and eat with us."

The offer was supposed to be nice, Draco guessed, but there was no way that would happen. First of all, they were nearly everything he despised in the world – friendly, kind, cheerful, brave – and second of all, he wasn't big on food in general. He'd have to decline. But before he could,

"Draco doesn't eat," Hermione and Harry both said wearily, then stared at each other, slightly amused.

"What, so you now know things about each other, and how you guys act, _and_ you kept a secret about body switching a tiny mute girl? And I thought we were friends," Ron said, legitimately angry.

Draco made a snap decision. He wasn't particularly good at them, which is why he tried to avoid them, but this chance to anger Ron even further was too good to pass up. "Actually, yes, I will sit down for a moment."


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Email notifications seem to be broken. Several chapters have gone up, but most of you seemed to have only gotten notification for one. Make sure to read all of them, or you may get confused! **

Harry was confused. Draco couldn't actually be accepting that invitation, he'd never sit with the Gryffindors. But sure enough, there he went, sitting down next to Fred on one side of the table and smiling brightly at Ron. That's when Harry understood what was really going on: Draco wanted to annoy Ron. Of course.

"Don't get any of your slimy lack of morals on me," Fred said, scooting closer to Ron. "I don't want to suddenly develop a taste for mediocrity and blood shed."

"Sure, as long as you keep your poverty and lack of manners to yourself," Draco said, saccharine sweet. "So how's life in the hovel?"

"Draco, stop it," Hermione said. "If you're going to sit with us, you can't be insulting."

"Can I insult people who aren't sitting here?" Draco asked.

"Sure," Harry agreed to keep the peace. "As long as they're not our friends."

"You do realize that's everyone," Hermione said to Harry.

"Not the Slytherins."

"I can do that," Draco said thoughtfully. "Somebody get me started."

Harry ducked as Fred and George high-fived over his head. "We've got this," George said happily. "Fred, take it away."

Fred rubbed his hands together and said, "Have you seen Crabbe and Goyle lately? I heard Hagrid mistook them for a couple of Blast-Ended Skrewts yesterday."

"That's good," Draco said, sounding moderately impressed. "Well I heard they got lost in the Forbidden Forest yesterday. They were trying to go home, but got distracted by a spider the size of the physical manifestation of everything they don't know."

There was a slightly awkward silence. "Um, yeah..." Ginny said slowly.

"That didn't quite land, did it," Draco said, resigned.

Harry shook his head, trying not to laugh.

"The first part was promising," George offered.

"I guess being around Ronald here is having a negative effect on my intelligence. Sorry," Draco said, smiling at Ron.

"Now see, that was good," Fred jumped in before Ron could be respond. "Simple, to the point, and the smile really completed the package."

Draco shrugged. "I guess that just comes naturally to me."

Ginny put her hand out. "Hold on, Abbie wants to say something." She concentrated, watching the little girl tracing letters onto her palm. "Draco spends so much time looking in the mirror, Abbie wonders if he's in love with his reflection," she finally said. "That's good," Ginny marveled, looking to Draco. "You just got burned by a nine year old."

"I know. And I can't even retaliate," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at Abby in an angry way. But he didn't look as cold as usual, and Harry thought Draco might've actually been being playful.

"What is that, morals?" Hermione asked, deadpan.

"No," Draco replied defensively.

"Hold on," Ron interrupted. He'd been very quiet throughout this whole conversation, even for Ron, and he looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. It was actually almost frightening. "So we're just going to forget about everything bad Malfoy's done? You're just going to ignore that he and his father are Death Eaters, that he supports Voldemort, and that he's generally been a terrible person to us for the past five years because he's suddenly your friend? So what am I?"

Harry stared at his best friend. He'd never heard him give such an impassioned speech ever before in his life. He sounded seriously upset and his face was getting pink. Harry didn't know how to answer, especially with Draco sitting there, looking smug, so he said, "Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

"Fine." Ron stood up and walked out.

Harry looked to Hermione. "You should come, too," he said hopefully.

"Fine. This is my fault, too," she muttered, standing, and the two of them chased after Ron. He'd gone into an empty classroom and was waiting for them, sitting on top of a desk. "Ron, please don't be so upset with Harry," Hermione said immediately.

"No, it's fine," Harry shook his head. "I agree. I've been an awful friend, Ron, and I'm sorry, but I had no choice."

"You chose to tell Hermione," Ron pointed out.

"No, I didn't. She figured it out herself. And so did Ginny, we didn't choose to tell her either. Trust me, I wanted to tell you, I really did," Harry said earnestly. "It was just really dangerous. If someone found out, both of us could've been killed."

"What, and you thought I'd just go running off to the nearest Death Eater to fill them in?" Ron asked.

"No. No, I didn't think that, but Malfoy wouldn't let me tell you."

"Oh, right, since he's your new best friend, you do whatever he says."

"No!" Harry protested.

"Ron, you're being irrational," Hermione interjected.

"Easy for you to say," Ron said grumpily. "You got to know."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. Even if Ron was right, he was being difficult to handle, and Harry was never eloquent at his best. "Ron. I don't know what to say to make you believe me, but I really hope you don't stay angry at me forever," he said simply.

Ron hesitated. "Well why are you still friends with him now? You've both got your bodies back."

"Dumbledore told us we had to all help take care of Abbie together, so we have to continue to cooperate with him," Hermione said persuasively. "Please, Ron."

Ron was silent for a moment. "Fine. But I'm never going to like him."

"That's fine," Harry said quickly. "I don't even like him most of the time. That's completely fine."

"Good." Ron almost smiled. "So I guess we should go back, before Fred and George murder Malfoy. Even if I kind of what them to."

Hermione smiled with relief. "Honestly, I'd be more worried about Ginny," she said to Ron.

Then he actually did smile. "Good point."

Draco was having a surprisingly good time at the table with Ginny and the Weasely twins. The three of them were much better than Ron at temporarily putting away their hatred for him, or at least pretending to. "Hey, how are your classes going?" Ginny asked her brothers. "I haven't barely seen either of you at all this year."

"Oh, the classes are going fine," George shrugged. "That's really not what's been taking so much time, though."

"What is?" Ginny frowned

"We're not at liberty to say," Fred informed her. "Businessmen never reveal their secrets."

"But, since you're our sister, we'll show you one product we've worked out." George pulled something out of his pocket. "Enchanted walkie-talkies," he said, showing off the set of black Muggle toys. "We borrowed them from Dad and improved them a little."

"How?" Draco asked, interested despite himself.

"They work for about a mile in any direction, doesn't matter what's in between. It could be a mile of solid stone. And they've got a special option in case you're in enemy territory: no one but the person holding them can hear them. Watch." George handed one of the walkie-talkies to Fred, pushed the button, and began to talk. Draco couldn't hear a word they said.

"Did you hear anything?" Fred asked.

"Nope," Draco shook his head.

"Not a thing," Ginny agreed.

Abbie shook her head, too.

"Good, because we were insulting you," George said, so seriously that Draco couldn't tell if he was serious or not – not that he'd ever admit it.

"Ah," was all he said. "Good."

Abbie looked concerned. She reached across the table for Draco's hand, so Draco put his hand, palm up, on the table. _Why are they beiNg so meaN?_ she asked him.

Draco was at a loss. He didn't know how to explain to her that he wasn't a nice person nearly ever, that just because he'd been more than civil to her for the past two days didn't mean he was ever anything but terrible to other people. So he didn't try to tell her any of that. "It's a long story," he said to her, then turned to the twins. "So what do you intend to do with those things?"

"We've already obtained Wizard patents, which was an obnoxiously long process, so once we get a storefront, we can start to sell them," Fred explained.

"And for now, we're concentrating on our Hogwarts customer base," George added, "as well as our anti-Voldemort products, since the Ministry is doing such a terrible job." He seemed to suddenly realize who he was sitting by and went quiet.

Perhaps things weren't going quite as well as he'd thought previously. "Well. As nice as this has been, we've got to go," he said abruptly, standing up. "C'mon," he said to Abbie. "See you later."

As he was walking away, he saw that more than half of the room was sneaking looks at him, including the majority of teachers. Snape looked particularly shocked and disgusted, Dumbledore didn't care, and the rest of the professors ranged somewhere in between. Everyone looked like they'd just seen North and South Korea hugging – which, Draco supposed, was kind of like what just happened.

Regardless, he went and sat in his usual spot next to Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table, ushering Abbie onto the bench next to him. "Hello, boys," he said blandly. "Looking at something?"

"Why did you go and sit at the Gryffindor table?" Crabbe said gruffly, sounding shocking like a talking gorilla.

"I had something to discuss. Any other stupid questions?" Draco said coldly. "Good. Do you want something to eat?" he asked Abbie, who nodded. "What do you want?"

_A saNdwich_, she spelled.

So Draco snapped his fingers at his minions. "Get her a sandwich," he ordered, pretending not to see how Abbie was looking at him reproachfully and how she was trying to get tell him not to be so mean. "Just wait, we can talk later," he whispered into her ear, and she nodded.

Lunch was a quiet affair, since usually Draco ran the conversation, and he was mean. Obviously he couldn't do that with Abbie there, so he opted for silence, and no one challenged him. They didn't even comment on the note Hermione sent flying over to the table.

Draco read it, holding it so that no one else could see it, which he was especially glad of once he discovered she was asking him to stop by the Gryffindor common room after lunch.

So, after lunch, he went with Abbie up the stairs to the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Kerfuffle," he said, and the door swung open. Privately, he thought the Gryffindors were far too trusting a bunch to leave their password the same for so long, but as it served his purposes, Draco didn't say anything about it.

Hermione and Ginny were both by the fire, Ginny sitting and Hermione standing with her arms full of books. "Oh good, I'm glad you're so punctual," Hermione said quickly. "I have to get to class soon, but I wanted to tell you about this charm. After talking to Ron, I went to the library to finish some Charms homework, and I found something that could help Abbie."

"Oh. Well, what is it?"

"The _Relashio_ charm is more versatile than I thought. They could've charmed her so she couldn't talk, and if that's true, then we could take off the spell off with _Relashio_ so she can talk."

"Okay, well then do it," Draco said after a second. "What are you waiting for, I'll just do it." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Abbie. "_Relashio_," he commanded. "Can you talk?"

Abbie opened her mouth and tried to, but still, she couldn't.

"It was worth a try," Draco said, trying not to be disappointed. "We'll figure it out eventually. Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione looks surprised, and blushed. "You're welcome." She nearly ran out of the room, clutching her books to her chest.

"What's wrong with her?" Draco said offhand, not really expecting an answer. Girls were always acting weird.

"I don't know," Ginny said, then coughed. "So is Abbie just following you to your classes then?" she asked politely.

"I'm not sure. We have a meeting with Dumbledore to discuss what's going on now that we know she won't die from leaving the dungeons." Abbie began spelling anxiously into his hand, but Draco didn't even need to wait for the question. "No, I didn't mean it. You weren't ever going to actually die. It's a figure of speech." It wasn't.

"A meeting with Dumbledore? Is it this afternoon, at three o'clock?"

"Yes. How did you know?" Draco said suspiciously.

Ginny held up a piece of parchment. "I got invited to that. So did Fred and George. But was it just supposed to be you, Harry, and Hermione?"

"The old coot didn't say," Draco realized grumpily. He'd assumed, and he'd been wrong. "Then I suppose I'll see you there."

"Well. You could stay here, if you want," Ginny said hesitantly, resolutely not looking at Draco.

"Do you really think your fellow Gryffindors would enjoy that?" Draco said, looking around the room dryly at the dozen or so people who were giving him dirty looks.

"Does it matter?" Ginny shrugged.

"Actually, it kind of does matter. Students from other houses aren't allowed in this common room, so I'm technically not allowed to be in here," Draco pointed out. Rules (and following them) were definitely his strong suit: every young Malfoy had to memorize the Malfoy family Code of Conduct by their tenth birthday.

"They didn't care while you were Harry," Ginny pointed out.

"Yeah, because I looked like Harry Potter, international hero," Draco said patiently. "It's fine, we'll leave."

"No," Ginny began to protest again.

Draco knew what was going on, here. She was getting attached to him, making him her personal project, a sort of Slytherin rehabilitation project. That couldn't happen. "No. I have other things I'd rather be doing right now. I don't want to spend my time with a blood traitor like you. Goodbye," he said curtly, and walked out with Abbie. She frantically tried to talk to him, but Draco wouldn't listen. "I know that was mean," he said to her. "But I had to. Trust me, Abbie, I had to."


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: Of course things aren't resolved! Silly fanfic reader. There is much more conflict and sarcasm on the way. Look, here's some now...**

Harry was completely content. He had his body, his life, and his friends back, Ron wasn't angry at him anymore, and he didn't have to deal with Draco anymore. Everything was almost perfect; as perfect as his life got, anyways. True, he, Draco, and Hermione had to go talk to Dumbledore, but that was probably just a formality, a kind of debriefing about the whole Abbie situation. Draco clearly had developed some kind of attachment to her – he'd surely be taking care of her permanently. She looked like him, for crying out loud. If that wasn't a sign, Harry didn't know what was. His year could only get better. With that in mind, he went to Dumbledore's office after Divination confident his fortune was looking up.

When he actually was inside of the Headmaster's office, however, he noticed something. The meeting wasn't only with Draco and Hermione, as he'd assumed when Dumbledore's message had told him they'd be discussing Abbie. Instead, in addition to both of them, Ron was there, with both of his twin brothers and Ginny. All of the Weaselys looked particularly awkward. "So is there any particular reason as to why we're here, or did you just invite us for completeness' sake?" George said, sprawled out on one of Dumbledore's chairs, his long legs crossed across the middle of the floor.

"I think he wanted a matching set," Fred said confidentially, calmly leaning back in his chair and tipping it slightly. "So that kind of makes you the odd one out, Harry, doesn't it."

"What about Hermione?" Harry asked, then attempted to ignore the glare she sent his way."

"Quite frankly, her brains more than compensate for her lack of red hair," Fred said. He sounded somewhat apologetic. "Sorry."

"Yeah, sorry," George added.

"Alright," Dumbledore cut off all of them. He'd been watching them for the entirety of the conversation with an expression of casual interest. Now, he stood up and clasped his hands behind him. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here." He looked at the Weasely twins. "I'm very sure, because you just said so."

"Sharpest tack in the box, he is," Fred said to George in a stage-whisper.

"Thank you. We are discussing, as you may have guessed, the priceless little gift we discovered was living in our lowest dungeons, who you've been calling Abbie, if I've heard correctly." He looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco seemed to be annoyed with being forced to do anything but stand near the back of the room next to Abbie. "Yes. That's it."

"Yes. The young Mr. Malfoy may have told you we had Mad-Eye Moody come in and check her for any trace signs of Dark Magic. He found nothing immediately dangerous, but there were several other worrying things that need attention." Dumbledore began to stroll around the office as he spoke. "He went down to the room where Harry found the girl and examined it closely. Hidden underneath a stone paver was a message clearly intended to be found if she was." Dumbledore paused.

"What did it say?" Ron asked, when the pause became awkwardly long.

"I'm so glad you asked," Dumbledore said, sounding sincere. He pulled a crumpled, dirty piece of parchment out from his sleeve and began to read in a very sonorous voice. "'If you're reading this, then you've found the girl. We've hidden a child in your dungeons. Imagine what we could do if we wanted to infiltrate the school. Our demands are simple: immediately remove security from Harry Potter this summer. Step down as headmaster. Expel all Mudblood students. Otherwise, we will unleash a devastating curse on the student body. Hundreds will die. You have been warned.'" Calmly, he folded the message back up and placed it within the folds of his sleeves.

There followed a very long, very tense silence. Harry wished he wasn't so surprised by the threat. Of course, right when everything else appeared to be working out, there would be some kind of terrible threat to the school. "Bloody hell," Ron finally said. "What are we going to do?"

"The curse is inside her, isn't it? That's what would make the most sense," Hermione said, upset.

"Oh, yes, because they'd hinge their entire devilish plot on the fact that we'd keep her here, in the school," Draco snorted.

"They probably would," Hermione defended.

"No, he didn't mean _that_," Draco said quietly to Abbie.

"Mean what?" Ginny asked.

"You're not going to kick her out, are you?" Draco said patiently to the Headmaster.

"Certainly not. We may just put her in protective custody at St. Mungo's, just in case," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "They've recently added pillows and blankets to the cots in their protective cells."

Draco gave him a deeply suspicious look, clearly perfectly aware of how manipulative that statement was. "That's great," he said dryly. "On a completely different note, I'm so glad our Headmaster is such a moral and upstanding person."

"Do not confuse morality with willingness to blackmail," Dumbledore chastened mildly, then continued. "So, in the interest of taking care of everyone involved, I've arrived at a decision. Both the young Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger are correct – the threat could be inside of Abbie, but it would be a bad idea to have her leave the premises. There could be other dormant spells that don't activate until she leaves the school. We need more time to appropriately test her."

"She's going to kill us all," Ron muttered.

"Dead as doornails," George agreed solemnly.

"So why do we need to be here?" Fred asked, raising his hand. "This seems like more of a problem for the blondes here."

"Excellent observation, Mr. Weasely."

"Which one?" all three of them asked.

Hermione giggled nervously, and Harry even cracked a smile.

"The one who's about to fall to the floor if he tips any farther."

Immediately, Fred leaned forward, his chair rocking back on to all four legs with a loud thump. "So we can go?" he asked.

"No." Dumbledore said crisply. "Contrary to popular belief, Harry is not capable of doing everything by himself. Neither is Draco, no matter what he may attempt to tell the general student body. Raising a child is an important responsibility. It may, in fact take a village to raise a child. Since she's already nine years old, however, I believe it'll only take the seven of you."

"Wait, wait, stop. How did we get involved?" Ron demanded, indignant.

"Was there a sign-up sheet, perhaps? I don't recall putting my name on one," George observed.

"No sign-up sheet," Dumbledore said, trying not to smile. "You four are involved because the Ministry wants a hand in this matter. Naturally, I turned down their generous offer of letting a random government official come in and help, but the only compromise they'd accept is the following: every other holiday has to be spent at the Burrow, and one of you four must be with her at all times. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

No. That most definitely did not sound anything remotely near wonderful to Draco. Although he was gifted in many areas, one thing that Draco Malfoy did not excel at was sharing. He had literally, in fact, missed that day in primary school. "Why do we need their help?" he demanded of Dumbledore peevishly. "I can handle her on my own."

"Perhaps. But nonetheless, most people in the wizarding community would not approve of having someone of your reputation caring for such a potentially volatile child," Dumbledore said diplomatically. "Do you understand?"

Yes, he understood. Of course he did. He was the son of a known Death Eater – he couldn't be trusted. And that statement wasn't false – he'd be the first to admit it, usually. Except usually, that didn't mean he'd end up working with those blasted Weasely children. "Yes," was all he said.

"That's not fair," Ron continued to argue.

"Life isn't fair," Draco said wearily. Naivety was so tiresome.

"Couldn't they choose some other family with children here? Or even just keep Malfoy out of this?" Ron seemed to be busily attempting to give the phrase 'beating a dead horse' new meaning.

"No, they couldn't. No other Ministry employees were willing to even consider such an unusual request," Dumbledore said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Figures it's Mum's fault."

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Furthermore, removing Mister Malfoy from this situation would be a grievous error. He is in possession of a few key... talents, you might say, that will come in handy later on."

The old coot could be as politically correct as he wanted; Draco still go the message loud and clear: dark magic would be involved, or lying required, possibly something to do with Voldemort. None of those options were appealing, especially the last one, but they were talents unique to him in this group. Aside from possibly the Weasely twins, Draco seriously doubted if a single one of them even knew how to lie.

"Listen," Ginny commanded, and everyone did. "Even if our parents said yes, that doesn't mean we'll comply. We have conditions."

"We do indeed," George said, then added, "Tell them what our conditions are, Ginny."

"Malfoy can't rude to any of us while we're working together," she said, as though she'd given this issue much thought. Knowing her, she had, Draco thought resentfully. "And he can't use anything we say or do to help Voldemort or hurt any of us. Otherwise, I refuse."

"So do I, by George," Fred crossed his arms.

"As do I, by Fred," George nodded.

"Yeah," Ron glared.

Dumbledore looked from them to Draco. "It would appear that you're outnumbered," he commented.

"So it would seem," Draco nodded, and try as he might, he couldn't think of a way out.

"Do you comply, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Hermione, who'd been suspiciously silent during this whole exchange, blurted out, "Draco, don't. You don't have to agree to anything you don't want to."

Draco laughed once, harshly. "Right. Of course I don't."

Abbie took the opportunity to tell his her opinion. _I want to stay with you_, she said, looking up at him earnestly. _Please. Don't be mean._

When she put it that way, it was hard to argue, even though it went against his every instinct, his past, his family, and his own, albeit sparse, moral code. Not even a single fiber of him wanted to go get along with Harry Potter and his merry group of miscreants, but if he wanted to stay near Abbie, he'd have to. It was a no-win situation. The only acceptable option was a quick and painless suicide, but that didn't seen to be very feasible.

"Fine," he agreed grudgingly.

Dumbledore smiled happily. Hermione looked thrilled. Harry and Ginny both seemed at least moderately less than dismayed. But the other three boys there were absolutely upset. The twins managed to cover their distaste rather quickly – which slightly increased Draco's opinion of them – but Ron didn't bother. He glared with open disgust at Draco.

Normally, Draco would be in favor of some subtle retaliation – perhaps a barbed remark or attempt to make him look even more stupid than usual. With Abbie at his side, though, he felt strangely... bad about doing something like that. It wasn't that important to make Ron look bad, anyway, Draco reminded himself. He'd be fine keeping his mouth shut.

Somehow he managed to excuse himself from the office without saying a single cruel thing to anyone. It was a difficult streak to maintain, so he made his exit as quickly as possible, pulling Abbie with him.

_So I get to stay with you, right?_ She asked as they walked.

"Most of the time. Lucky you," Draco muttered, not looking down at her.

_Why are you upset?_

"I'm not. I'm perfectly fine."

_No you aren't. And why are you mean to them?_ She had to spell this twice, because it was difficult for him to walk up the stairs and concentrate on what she was saying. Also, he didn't really want to know what she was saying. He had a feeling about what she was going to say before she even started.

"It's a rather long story," he said shortly.

_Explain_.

"No. It's not something for little girls to hear about."

_Tell me_.

"Abbie. I said no." Draco was wavering, though.

_I thought you said we were friends_.

This gives him pause. He has to think for an answer. "I did. And part of being friends is knowing what not to tell you. Trust me, I'm a grownup."

_What if you're lying?_

"What do you mean?" he played dumb.

_You lied a lot to the other people._

Damn. That's why he never let anyone know anything about him, then they could make observations like that. "I had to. It's a tough situation. A lot of things happened to us that made things the way they are."

_But isn't lying bad?_

"Depends on the situation, really. Sometimes, if you really have to, it's okay. And I have to lie to them."

_Why?_

Draco sighed and stopped walking, turning so he was facing her in the middle of the hallway. "Because we are different people, them and I. they can't know a lot of what's true about me."

_Why?_

"Because my parents want to kill their parents." That was the simple explanation.

_Why?_

Draco, as someone who was unfamiliar with small children, didn't know how the 'Why' game went, and so found it particularly infuriating. "Because," he said, frustrated. "That's just how it is. Okay?"

_Are you mad at me?_ she asked, frowning.

"No. No, I'm not," he said, caving under the gaze of her huge bright green eyes. "Abbie, I'm not mad at you. Really. Just trust me, okay?" She nodded, thankfully, and Draco took a deep breath. "Good. Okay. Let's go trick Snape out of some Veritaserum and find out where Blaise hid my custom-made sleep shirts."


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: I have to give credit to the lovely Fredryck for the inspiration for Draco's half of this chapter, who made an offhand comment in a review that sparked my creative juices. Thanks so much, and enjoy.**

Harry had spent close to no time with Abbie since the meeting with Dumbledore. Draco was shockingly persistent in his refusal to leave her with anyone but himself – he'd only left her during the nights, when she went to sleep in Hermione's dorm room that Ginny had switched into. Even then, he hadn't gone far. Once, Harry had gotten up around 5:30 in the morning and found Draco sleeping in a chair in the common room, and he knew for a fact that he hadn't gone to bed until past midnight that previous night. It was getting to the point where Harry felt like he had to say something about it, even as a nearly sworn enemy of him.

There was really no opportunity for him to bring this up during the day, since their detention had ended when they switched back. unfortunately, this meant Harry would have to get up at a ridiculously early hour if he wanted to get his chance. And even though he didn't particularly care about Draco, or even like him very much, he decided to do it.

So, Harry set an alarm for 5:00 am, got up at 5:07, and stumbled down the stairs in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and putting on his glasses. Draco was sitting in the same chair as the last time he'd seen him, and he was asleep again, sitting nearly straight up, even in his sleep. Harry sat across from him, looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Malfoy."

"What?" Draco sat straight up, opening his eyes and staring directly at Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my common room. What are you doing here?"

"I must've fallen asleep here last night," Draco said abruptly.

"Why were you here last night?" Harry persisted.

"To kill you in your sleep. Unfortunately-"

Harry interrupted just as Draco was beginning to warn to the subject. "We can take care of Abbie without you."

"I know," Draco said with great dignity.

"You can sleep."

"I know, and I don't need your permission to keep my own sleep schedule," Draco said, enunciating clearly and glaring at Harry. Back in his own body, he could glare very effectively. "Do you have anything else to say, or are you going to continue to ask me inane questions?"

"Inane questions, definitely," Harry said, pretending to think.

For a fraction of a second, Draco's expression became slightly less arctic. "Then go for it. I don't have all morning."

"A lot of the other Gryffindors are kind of getting upset that you're in here all the time," Harry said, trying to be diplomatic.

"Right. I'm sorry I'm poisoning the-"

Again, Harry cut him off. "Malfoy. Stop. That's not what I'm saying. Let me finish the sentence. Alright? So, I was going to say, do you want Hermione to find that temporary invisibility spell she read about? I could ask her to do that, and then you could stay here if you want and everyone would be fine."

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What are you doing?" he said.

"Trying to help."

"No, what are you trying to accomplish with that?" Draco said, still looking very upset. "What do you want me to do for you in return? What's your angle?"

"I don't have an angle," Harry insisted, slightly confused.

"So you're just offering this to me for no reason?" Draco snorted. "As if. Don't think I'd ever fall for that. I'm not an idiot."

"I know you're not. I'm just trying to help you."

"Why? Why in the world would you want to help me? We aren't friends," Draco said, sounding genuinely concerned that Harry might think that. "You don't owe me any favors."

"I know. I want to help. That's all." And that was true. Harry had never seen Draco so concerned about another human being. It was strange. But he wanted to keep that going, so that was part of why he was offering.

"You want something from me. You have to. What do you want?" Draco asked after a moment of thought.

"Nothing. You already pretty much agreed to everything I'd want, anyways," Harry pointed out, trying not to smile. "I mean, you're not making fun of the Weaselys, or any of us really, and you have to be nice most of the time. I mean, do you even see any of your evil minions anymore?"

"No. By my own choice, though. They don't understand..." he began to say, then stopped. "They're fine. I've just been busy taking care of Abbie, that's all."

"Well you don't have to. Fred and George are fine with taking more time. I think they've dropped out of most of their classes, or at least they're not going to them anymore." Come to think of it, Harry wasn't very sure that at they had been in class at all this year. Granted, they'd been very busy, and he'd assumed that's where they were, but come to think of it, there was no guarantee of that. "They love her, it'd be fine," Harry said.

"You're suggesting leaving a child with the school's most notorious pranksters?" Draco said dubiously. "Oh, great idea. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll experiment on her, turn her into a canary or make her ill."

"They're not mad scientists. And they test everything truly dangerous on themselves," Harry defended them.

"Oh, that's reassuring. So they're talented _and_ stupid."

"Then you could leave her with Ginny and Hermione. The twins aren't the point. I'm just saying there's other people who could take care of her. Whatever. I'm sorry I suggested it." Harry got up to go back to his dorm room. Hopefully he'd be able to catch a few more hours of sleep.

"You know," Draco said as Harry walked to the stairs. Harry stopped and turn, thinking he may have changed his mind. But all Draco said was, "You Gryffindors should really change your password."

"Well, let's do this," Fred said cheerily, walking into the Slytherin common room and surveying it. Someone – they wouldn't say who, but Draco suspected Hermione – had been advocating for Draco, saying he needed more time in his own dorm, and the twins were the only Weaselys who would consider going into the Slytherin dungeons. So there they were, looking extremely out of place in the dank moldy dungeons, peering around in a curious way that made Draco somewhat nervous.

"So these are the dungeons, eh?" George nodded appreciatively. "Very nice. I like the sinister vibe you've got going on. Very dedicated. Mold like this takes years to build up." The manner in which he made this observation was frighteningly knowledgeable, but Draco didn't ask. He had just noticed George casually had one hand out to Abbie, and she was spelling into it quickly.

"What's going on there?" Draco said, pointing at their hands. "Can you understand what she's saying?"

"What? Oh, yeah. She's telling me about Ginny talking in her sleep," George said calmly, then chuckled and said to Abbie, "That wasn't the first time. Once it was cabbage."

Abbie giggled silently and kept talking, and George went back to half paying attention.

"You see," Fred said conversationally, "George and I have perfected most forms of communication, just in case," he said. "All types of touched-based spelling was... what was that, two years ago?"

"Two indeed," George agreed. "So what are we going to do here?"

"Oh, look. Malfoy's taken in two charity cases," Zabini spoke up from across the room, smirking.

"Mongrels in our common room? It just will not do," Pansy simpered.

Draco couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. He couldn't defend them without completely destroying his reputation, but if he didn't, he was certain they'd both stop being relatively civil to him.

Before he could make some kind of decision about this situation, George responded. "Mongrels? I guess you'd know, since you've got the face of one."

Fred picked up where he left off. "Be nice to them, George. They've only got three brain cells between the four of them, I've heard."

"Yeah? I've heard the pig-faced one has two of the three, if you can believe that," George said, looking at the Slytherins with pity.

Draco could barely contain his astonishment and laughter – Blaise and Pansy stammered, unsure of which one was being insulted. It was rather artfully done, to be honest. The four of them made their way to seats by a greenish-looking fire and sat in the uncomfortable straight-backed chairs. Casually, Fred and George conjured their chairs into worn leather recliners, and after a quick request from Abbie, made hers into one, too.

"Really?" Draco said to her. "A brown leather recliner? You had your choice of chairs, and you're not going to choose anything a little more girly?" Abbie looked upset, and Draco felt suddenly strange, so he added, "It's fine, I was kidding."

"What was that? Did you just feel bad about crushing a young girl's hopes and dreams?" Fred asked, pulling a lever and reclining his chair.

"I don't know. Is that the sort of thing that happens around little girls?" Draco raised one eyebrow.

"Believe me, yes. One look from Ginny and we'd be helpless." Dramatically, Fred put one hand over his heart. "The day she finds a man is the day his life ends."

"Yep. This one here's going to be a heartbreaker, too, I can already tell," George said, pointing to Abbie. "So. What are we going to do here?"

"Usually, now's the time I make my evil plans, but with you here, I'm kind of in an awkward place," Draco shrugged. "So I'm really not sure what to do, here."

"Then why the bloody hell would you want to come back here?" Fred demanded patiently.

"Who knows? I'm not the one who said I wanted to. That was all Hermione Granger's fault."

"Ah." George nodded understandingly. "She does have a rather strong will, doesn't she."

"Yes. She does." Draco's answer was terse and upset, and he wasn't exactly sure why. Something about talking about her made him irritable, and full of a variety of things he was unfamiliar with. She was just so different than anyone he'd ever known. So he changed the subject. "Did you really drop out of all of your classes?" he said politely.

"Why do you want to know? Are you going to report your findings back to Voldemort after you pump us for personal information?" George said with sudden hostility, looking at Draco with calm fury.

"No. He wouldn't care about it."

"But if he did, you would," Fred stated, also staring steadily at him. The atmosphere was suddenly tense – Abbie was looking from one boy to another nervously, but none of them noticed at the moment.

"Perhaps." The twins looked like he'd just confirmed their opinions of him, which made Draco upset. "Did you honestly expect a different answer?" he asked crossly. "Of course I'd tell him. He'd kill me if I didn't. And if he didn't, my father would."

"Don't exaggerate," Fred rolled his eyes.

"I'm not. He'd kill me. He only had me to give to the Dark Lord. If I stop being useful to him he'll kill me. So yes, I'd tell him. Sue me."

There followed several moments of a very awkward silence. "What do you mean, give to him?" George asked quietly.

"Exactly what it sounds like. As soon as I turn seventeen, I'm officially a servant of the Dark Lord and the rest of my life is done." Draco said this with no emotion. He'd come to peace with this face a long time ago, and it didn't really bother him anymore, as long as he didn't think about it too much or at all, really.

This fact seemed to surprise both the Weaselys. "Oh. Well. We haven't been attending classes at all, really. We've been developing our prank spells and charmed products, looking at real estate in Diagon Alley, and building our international customer base," Fred said matter-of-factly. "We've always felt our futures didn't lie in the academic field."

"And we open shop soon," George said. "As soon as we get the money to pay for our first month of lease. So that's what we've been doing."

"Ah. What type of products do you stock?" Draco asked politely.

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, there's these," he said, offhand, and pointed at Pansy and Blaise, who were suddenly swelling to twice their original size. "SBPs," he said, pulling a baggie of nearly translucent crystals. "Silent-but-pudgys. Slip these in their drink and they'll dissolve completely, then swell the victim to up to twice their weight. Coming soon."

"When did you get that in their drinks? Were they even drinking something?" Draco frowned, trying not to be impressed.

Fred shrugged. "We'll never tell," he said innocently.


	22. Chapter 22

"So. Just like old times. Except now we look like a homosexual couple with two adopted children," Draco commented, watching Abbie walk around Zonko's and stare at everything in amazement, holding onto Ginny's hand and asking about everything. Abbie had told the twins she'd never been in a shop of any type and they had immediately gone to Dumbledore, demanding his permission to take her to Hogsmeade so they could show her around the joke shop. They'd miscalculated the shifts, though, so Harry and Ginny ended up being the ones who were officially watching Abbie when it came time to take the trip.

Hermione, of course, had pointed out that they were perfectly able to switch responsibility, but Fred and George had refused, saying they could just go as a whole group. Of course, the instant they entered the store, Fred and George had gotten very involved in a conversation with the store owner, Hermione had wandered over toward the love potions, and Ron had refused to come. This left Harry and Draco with an uncomfortable amount of time together. Harry didn't know what to say to this particular observation.

"Ginny's only a year younger than us. She couldn't be our adopted child," he said.

Draco seemed disinterested. "Is she? Oh well. One adopted child and our straight best girlfriend, then. Still. If you ask me to hold hands, the answer's still no," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and glaring.

"You're the one who said it was 'just like old times', even thought I can't remember any old times even remotely approaching that," Harry pointed out. "So maybe _you're_ the one who secretly the one who wants to hold hands with me, the Chosen One," Harry said, grinning.

"Harry, how does the instant darkness powder work?" Ginny interrupted before Draco could respond. Draco had to settle for a very intense scowl. "Abbie wants to know," Ginny added when they didn't answer.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "Something about the Nox spell maybe."

"Actually, it's a combination of that and a variation of the Oculus spell. It's a tricky combination," Draco said knowledgeably.

"Unfortunately, it leaves a grimy powder all over the whole area it covers, smells like oil, and doesn't last much longer than a few minutes," George commented, appearing from between two displays full of enchanted quills. "Ours is only in the prototype phase and it's far superior. Just you wait."

"Are you opening the shop soon?" Harry inquired, thinking about the prize money he'd given to them.

"Yes. Our large cash donation from a valued investor was spent on products, research and development, promotion, you know the deal," Fred said, appearing from behind George and winking at Harry. "We're about five hundred Galleons short of being ready. Very close."

"What about school?" Hermione asked, walking towards them. She had something pink held in her hand.

"What about it?" George shrugged. "Why attend school for another few months if we're ready and able to make money right now?"

Privately, Harry thought they might have a point, but he didn't say anything because Hermione seemed very upset at this. "You need to finish your education!" she said. "You have to!"

"No, we actually don't. Entrepreneurs don't need degrees to run a business," Fred said wisely. "Sorry to burst your bubble. Got a love potion there?" he said, changing the subject.

"No," Hermione said defensively, it back on the shelf, trying to play it off. But even Harry noticed it was on the wrong shelf. Also, she was blushing. "Let's go." She walked out of the store without another word.

Fred and George laughed and high-fived. "Let's go get some chocolate Frogs the size of our heads," George suggested. "C'mon Harry. I know Ron's sulking in there anyways."

"He came?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought he said he was staying."

"Do you honestly think Ron would turn down a chance to get giant candy? Come on, now, Harry, you can't be that dense," George said patiently. "Let's go."

Harry was very tempted. But then he heard Ginny explaining something to Abbie, and he remembered he was supposed to be taking care of her. "Do you mind if I leave?" he asked Ginny hesitantly. "I can stay if you want, it's fine, I don't mind."

"No, Harry, go," Ginny smiled at him. "I don't mind. We're having fun." Abbie nodded, looking more happy than she ever had before that Harry could remember. "Go," she repeated when Harry hesitated.

"Thanks, you're the best," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder briefly, then ran out of the store behind Fred and George. Several hours in a candy store with the three Weasely boys and enough Galleons to buy whatever he wanted was very near to his idea of heaven.

Ginny seemed particularly gifted at interacting with little girls. Draco could only watch in amazement as she patiently explained every little thing to her, let herself be lead around the entire store twice, and finally bought her something that took at least fifteen minutes to pick out.

"How do you do that?" Draco asked Ginny while Abbie finally bought her tiny vial of color-changing nail polish.

"Do what?" Ginny said shortly, not looking at him.

"Interact with her."

"Well, for people with morals, it's usually quite easy."

Draco was taken aback - not that he couldn't take an insult, he just was unprepared. He'd gotten used to the people he interacted with on a regular basis to be friendly, or at least mostly civil. And Ginny had been nice to him the last time they'd spoken. "What? I have morals," he said, trying to regain his composure.

"Sure you do." Her answer was terse again. "Fine." Her attitude had taken a complete U-turn from how she'd been acting with Abbie, and quite frankly, Draco was still taken off-guard.

"Have I said or done anything to offend you?" he asked.

"Listen. Just because you're contractually obligated to be nice to us in order to take care of Abbie, who you like for some mysterious reason, doesn't mean I have to like you. You're insufferable, and I violently loathe you. But I'll play nice around Abbie. Understand?" Her voice was cold and completely full of quiet rage, and Draco blinked in surprise.

"Oh."

The two of them didn't speak as Abbie finished her purchase, then came back to them, excitedly motioning at it. "Yes, that's beautiful," Ginny said, her voice instantly getting high-pitched and friendly again. "Do you want to go to the candy store?"

Abbie's eyes grew large, and she looked nervous. Upset, she shook her head frantically, reaching for Draco's hand to spell _No, no candy_.

"Okay... why?" Draco asked, frowning.

_Candy's bad_.

"So what do you want to do?" Ginny said soothingly, handling Abbie's strange answer much better. Abbie spelled her answer into Ginny's hand. "Let's go for a walk in the snow," Ginny said to Draco, her tone barely civil.

So they went. Cheerfully oblivious, Abbie grabbed each of their hands and pulled them down to the bridge over the mostly-frozen river. She seemed perfectly happy to throw rocks at the thin ice for as long as they'd let her, and Draco and Ginny were perfectly happy to let her. "I thought we were going to try to get along," Draco said to Ginny quietly.

"I don't know why you would ever think that. I said nothing to that effect," she replied haughtily.

"Well, you were nice to me last time we talked," Draco pointed out, sounding petulant even to himself.

"I didn't know who you were then. You were different."

"I just looked like Harry. That's the only difference."

"No," Ginny shook her head. "You acted differently, too. You let yourself be nice. And you lied."

"Not technically," was all he could think to say.

Of course, this was the exact wrong thing. "Not technically? Really? That's your argument? Ridiculous, Draco. You didn't tell us who you were and interacted with us under false pretenses. I think that qualifies as a lie." All of her words were said calmly, so Abbie wouldn't catch on that they were fighting, but there was definitely an undertone of fury.

Draco didn't know what do or say, nor did he understand why exactly he cared, but he did. "Well, I'm sorry. Will you ever get over that?"

"Do you really think that's the only thing that I don't like about you?" Ginny said indignantly.

"I was hoping it might be."

"Really. You were hoping I'd just forget about your five-plus years of cruelty towards my entire family and friends? What about the fact that you associate with people who've tried to kill the people I love for as long as I can remember? That's not exactly nothing, either. If you're going to try to do the whole 'nice' thing, then you have a whole hell of a lot of making up in front of you."

Draco was fully aware of the fact that the only reason Ginny stopped her cutting tirade was because Abbie came back, showing them her hand that she'd got some of her nail polish on. Currently, that part of her hand was cycling through a rainbow of hues. And while Ginny seemed to be able to compartmentalize and be friendly to Abbie, Draco couldn't, so he said nothing. he'd decided a long time ago that he'd never be mean to her, and he wouldn't start now. Although, come to think of it, he wasn't sure when exactly he'd decided that, or why.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: I've gotten a couple of reviews with the same comment, so I just wanted to reiterate this fact; nothing you say will hurt my feelings. I am very good at taking criticism, and I do want it. Even if there's a terrible thing I've done, or something you don't feel I explained well, tell me! Fredryck pointed out how other people don't really interact with them, so I tried to fix that. Also, apparently spoilers in the A/N bother people, so no more! You will have to stand living in mystery. **

Hermione was feeling very strange lately. Her face would feel very warm at the strangest times, she'd blush for no reason, and her words sometimes wouldn't come out the way she wanted, for the first time in her memory. It was all very suspect. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps she was becoming ill.

"Harry," she said one day at lunch when she finally couldn't stand any of it anymore, "do I look sick to you?"

Harry looked her straight in the eyes. His seemed especially green that particular day. "No, you look fine," he said after a moment. "You look great, in fact," he added.

Right after he said that, one of Hermione's strange-feeling spells came over her. "Well, something feels very wrong," she said sharply. "I suppose it's just not visible."

"I have an idea," Draco commented calmly from the other side of the table, where he had been quietly observing the Gryffindors. He'd taken to switching between his table and theirs for the past few days, causing quite the uproar. Hermione was vaguely aware of three camps developing: those who liked Draco's apparent change of heart, those who didn't, and those who didn't care. But she'd been hanging around with the six who did increasingly. Combined with her illness, she didn't particularly care. Unfortunately, about 90% of the Gryffindor house did. Draco's silence was less out of self-restraint and more out of self-interest.

"If you're going to be sarcastic, then I don't want to hear it," Hermione informed him crossly.

"Is he bothering you, Hermione?" Seamus said, practically materializing out of thin air to stand behind her menacingly. "Me and Dean can take care of him for you."

"Thank you, Seamus, no," Hermione sighed. "But I'll let you know." There was no shame in a girl keeping her options open.

Seamus reluctantly walked away, and Draco made a face at Seamus's back. "Obnoxious should be added to the whole 'daring, brave, and chivalry' deal," he commented. "Why do people automatically assume that I bother the people I talk to? It's quite insulting."

"Well, it's because you do," Ron said bluntly, which was a step forward for his relationship with Draco.

"He has a point," Hermione cut in before Draco could respond. "I just said no so Seamus wouldn't beat you into a pulp. So what's your idea?"

"I'm sure you don't want to hear it," Draco said, giving her a meaningful look – although what exactly it was supposed to mean, Hermione wasn't sure.

"Okay..." she said, frowning, and changed the subject. "Harry, did you finish your Potions essay?"

Again, Draco cut in, apparently forgetting to be silent. "I remember that part of being Harry. Best bit of the deal, really, my marks have never been better with less effort. Any chance you'd still be willing to-"

Harry ignored Draco with no apparent effort. "Yes, I did it last night," he began to say, but he was interrupted by Angelina Johnson.

She stormed angrily up to them and held one hand up at Harry. "Excuse me, Harry, shut your mouth. Fred Weasley," she said, furious, and began slapping him on the back of the head.

"What? Angelina, what have I done?" Fred said, putting his hands up to protect himself.

"You introduced Lee to that louse and not me?" she demanded, jerking her thumb at Draco.

"What, Malfoy?" Fred said, sounding baffled. "Why would you want to meet him for?" That comment was rewarded with two furious glares.

"I don't, genius. But you aren't going to introduce Lee to him and not me. Let's have it," she said impatiently.

It was true, Lee Jordan had hung out with the twins while it was their turn with Abbie, mainly to get a look at the Slytherin dungeons. By chance, he'd hit it off with Draco, and after a few tense moments regarding Lee's Quidditch commentary, the two of them had parted not friends, but not quite mortal enemies anymore. Ginny had told Hermione about all of this with a tone of wonder during their joint turn with Abbie. Still, Hermione didn't quite understand Angelina's logic.

Fred seemed willing to give in without question. "Okay! Fine! Malfoy, this is Angelica. Angelica, Malfoy. Happy?" he said to her.

"Quite," Draco said in that obviously male way that every girl within hearing instantly understood and was disgusted by, especially Angelica.

"Nah, mate," she said pityingly, smirking at him. "I'm spoken for."

"By who?" Fred demanded.

Angelina just smiled at him and flounced away, back to Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, who were sitting farther down on at the Gryffindor table.

"You're a lucky boy," Draco said to Fred in a slightly sardonic way.

"I am," Fred said, sounding dazed. "I think. You think she'll go on a date with me this weekend?" he asked George in a lower voice.

"Are you kidding me? Double date. I planned for it," George snorted. "Alicia Spinnet, you, me, and that one. This weekend. Hogsmeade. Ronnie, want to come? If you can get a date, that is."

"I actually already have a date," Ron said with a mixture of smug happiness and slight annoyance. After some pestering, he finally admitted, "Alright, it's Cho. Cho Chang. Sorry, Harry."

His brothers immediately erupted into whoops and hollers, and even Draco looked moderately impressed. Hermione looked to Harry to see how he'd react to that revelation. To her surprise, Harry didn't seem that bothered. "Good for you. That's fine."

"You're not angry?" Ron checked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm kind of over her," he shrugged.

"Finally," Hermione burst out. "You've been stuck on her for years, and she doesn't like you one bit."

Draco gave her an evaluating look. "I'm sure she didn't."

"Harry, you can come," George offered. "Get a date, and we'll meet you there. Same for you, Ginny."

"Okay," Harry agreed.

"Sure," Ginny shrugged.

Hermione was getting tired of these vague comments he was making, but she had no chance to tell him, because they were cut off by Luna Lovegood drifting over to their table. She sat down at the table and began to eat off of Hermione's plate.

"Um, hello," Hermione said awkwardly. "Do you want something?"

"No, I just thought we were eating at different tables now, with our friends," she said dreamily. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Oy. That scum isn't any friend of ours," George said in an offended tone, pointing at Draco.

"Please, don't assume these peasants are my friends," Draco snorted back, rolling his eyes in a patronizing way.

"And yet, you're sitting with us even though Abbie's not here?" Hermione pointed out, enjoying her chance at retaliation.

Draco came up with a quick response. "I thought she was on her way with Ginny, and I was merely waiting," he said patiently.

"Yeah, where is Ginny?" Fred asked, sounding suddenly worried.

"She was supposed to stop by our room to get Abbie's nail polish," Hermione said. "I don't know where she went from there."

"Well, someone needs to find her," Draco said heroically. "I'll go." Without another word, he stood, and swept out of the room.

"He's really quite chivalrous, isn't he?" Luna observed, chewing, and Hermione found she didn't know how to respond.

Yes, Ginny was currently skipping dinner and sitting in the library with Abbie, but she told herself the large late breakfast she'd had counted. Abbie didn't seem to notice, anyways, she was preoccupied with reading every book she could get her hands on, then asking her thousands of questions about everything. Ginny had just finished telling her about the mer-people in the Black Lake when Abbie said, _Are the mermaids the ones who eat people?_ She was using a quill and parchment to talk, since it was a lot faster than trying to spell into Ginny's hand.

"What? No. What are you talking about?" Ginny frowned. Abbie always brought up the oddest conversation topics for a little girl.

_What are they called? The beautiful people who eat other people._

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean. Can you find a picture of them in this book?" Ginny pulled _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ off the shelf and gave it Abbie.

Abbie leafed through the pages quickly, apparently knowing exactly what she was looking for. After a few minutes of silent searching, she found it, turning the book towards Ginny and pointing at the picture.

"Veela?" Ginny said in surprise. "How do you know about veela?"

_I am part V la._

Despite the misspelling, her meaning was clear. "And how do you know that?" she said, trying to sound calm. During her time with Abbie, she'd discovered Abbie spoke more while Ginny was calm.

_My mother told me._

Abbie had mentioned her mother several times, but she never could explain more about it, like who this woman was, what she intended to accomplish by letting someone keep her daughter in a dungeon, or anything like that. So Ginny didn't bother asking anything else along those lines. "Part veela, really," she said, stalling for time as she thought of a response. "Well, then that means you'll grow up to be absolutely gorgeous when you grow up," she finally said. "Breaking hearts left and right."

"That's generally a Malfoy family trait," Draco observed laconically, coming out from behind a bookshelf. He looked down his nose at them. "Having fun, girls?"

"We were until you got here," Ginny muttered. "What do you want?"

"I'm just coming to spend some time with you two," Draco said in a dignified tone. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the floor, delicately crossing his legs and brushing off his impeccable black pants. "So what are we doing?"

_Reading about V la,_ Abbie told him.

"Well, it's spelled V-E-E-L-A," Draco said to her, then added, "And why are you reading about veela? That's not a particularly pleasant topic." He gave Ginny a pointed look that she responded to with a nasty face.

"I didn't choose them. She asked me about them, that's all," Ginny said coldly. "You don't need to be so uppity."

"I'm not being uppity," Draco said in an even colder voice, staring at her. His eyes were hard like silver. After a second, he said, "Why did she ask about the veela?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Ginny was being childish, she fully realized it, but she was enjoying it far too much to stop.

"Yes, I would. That's why I asked." The pained expression Draco had on his face was nearly priceless.

"Tough luck," Ginny shrugged.

Abbie, who had been watching the conversation with slight confusion, took Draco's hand and explained to him what was going on. "You know, I'm part veela myself, on my mother's side. My grandmother, Druella Rosier, charmed her husband into marrying her with her good looks. I intend to follow her example," he said with no emotion.

"That explains your poisonous personality," Ginny said crossly.

Draco stared at her for a moment, then turned to Abbie. "I am sorry we have to do this in front of you, Abbie, but this needs to happen." He turned back to Ginny. "I am trying to play nice with everyone, but you're making it very difficult. So can you stop?"

"No, I cannot. You're an insufferable prig, a liar, and an all-around terrible person. Not only did you lie to me about who you were, but before that, you also were a complete ass to everyone I love. Frankly, I'm surprised Fred and George were able to compartmentalize well enough to be anywhere near you. I know I certainly can't."

"You should try it some time," Draco said conversationally. "It really makes life so much easier."

"Maybe for people without souls."

"Wouldn't that be you?" Draco quipped.

Ginny gave him a blank stare.

"Never mind. Listen. You think you guys are all instantly likable? Our families have been mortal enemies for generations. If my father finds out about this arrangement we've got going on, things aren't going to be pleasant," Draco said in the acid tone Ginny remembered so well. "You're no bundle of roses either."

"Yeah, well my family doesn't try to kill people, so." She couldn't figure out how to finish that thought, so she didn't.

"Don't be so high-and-mighty," Draco snorted. "My family's respected by many in the wizarding community. We do what we need to do to survive. Why is that so terrible?"

"Respected by murderers and terrorists, one. Two, survival isn't an excuse to do whatever you want, especially if that whatever involves the lives of innocent people," Ginny said in righteous indignation. "Because of what your family did, Cedric Diggory is dead."

"He was obnoxious, anyways," Draco said. Ginny felt like she was about to cry, which apparently was obvious on her face, because Abbie took her hand to hold it and Draco backtracked. "Well, I didn't really know him, so I guess he might've been okay. Don't cry," he said, sounding rather nervous.

"Why would you care?" Ginny glared.

Abbie was officially concerned. She grabbed the quill and scribbled, _Stop. Draco is nice,_ she argued.

"No, he's not, though," Ginny said, feeling bad about shattering whatever illusion of Draco Abbie had. "I'm sure he's been nice to you. But to most other people, he's not very nice at all," she finally said.

Abbie looked to Draco in confusion, looking for any kind of hint for how to handle this statement, but Draco's face was completely blank. _Is she right?_ she finally asked.

Draco didn't know what to say, and Ginny suddenly felt worse about having it out in front of Abbie. "I'm... no, I'm not nice, I guess," he said quietly after a second. "But people who are nice all the time are idiots. They're gullible, infantile, and foolish. Only nice people think it's important to be nice."

Disturbingly, Abbie seemed to be taking his every word as gospel, staring at him with wide eyes. _Really?_

"No," Ginny said firmly.

"Absolutely," Draco nodded.

"Stop it. No. He's not right, Abbie, he's just trying to look good," Ginny said dismissively. "Trust me, he's not."

"Depends on your definition of good," Draco argued persuasively. "I mean, I protect my family. That's good by any definition of the word. And whatever morals I have, I stick to. Just because they're not necessarily your morals doesn't make them unacceptable."

"Right, but if everybody generally agrees a person is bad, then I think it can be assumed that most people are right. Although granted, most people are mindless sheep-"

"Which is why you can't trust them," Draco said triumphantly.

Ginny had to admit he had a point. "Alright, fine," she sighed. "But I think what you do is immoral and wrong, so I can safely say that's my opinion. And most people's opinion, even if that doesn't matter to you."

Draco stared at her inscrutably, then said, "Alright. Well, I'm glad that's cleared up. Think what you want," he told Abbie. "It doesn't matter." And after that, he didn't say much of anything, so Ginny and Abbie went back to reading.


	24. Chapter 235

**Author's Note: Hey guys, as you may have noticed, my updates have been crazy at best. For now, I'm putting this story on hiatus. I love you all, and I'll keep writing if I can, but there probably won't be any new chapters for the next month or so. My schedule is officially packed. Here's a half-chapter to kind of tie things up for now. **

Harry was peacefully enjoying a late weekend morning in his bed, half-awake but mostly not. He felt like he was floating down a happy calm river, where everything was quiet and no one wanted anything from him. Of course, that didn't last for very long.

"Harry," someone whispered, extremely close to his ear.

"Go away," he mumbled. Ron was the only person he could think of that would be bothering him this early, and even that seemed unlikely.

"It's an emergency," the person whispered.

"No it isn't."

"Why else would I be in your room?" the person said, a little louder, and for the first time, Harry could tell it was Draco. Swiftly, he sat straight up, nearly hitting Draco in the head.

"Why the hell are you in my room?" he demanded.

"Shhh!" Draco glanced around the room nervously. "Your roommates will murder me. And it is an emergency. My father's coming here."

"So?"

"So, he doesn't know about Abbie, and he can't find out."

"What?" This whole thing seemed very difficult for him to understand – maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was actually very complicated. He couldn't tell. "Wait, how did you get in my room?"

"Still haven't changed your password. Get up."

"Can't you bother Hermione about this or something?" Harry groaned.

"No."

Harry sighed, very exasperated, and got out of bed, putting on one of the sweaters he'd received from Mrs. Weasely over the years. Draco looked at him, clearly dying to make a sarcastic comment about the sweater, but refrained. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked, putting on his glasses.

"Just be yourself," Draco said cheerily.

"I don't have time for this."

"Alright, fine. Come downstairs." Harry followed Draco down the steps to the common room, where Draco turned to him. "I need your promise that you guys will take care of her while I can't. Probably just a day, but it could be longer."

"Why my promise?" Harry asked, doing his best not to notice the dirty looks from the early risers in the common room.

"Because I know you'll keep it," Draco said, suddenly very interested in the lush rug underfoot. "If there's one thing about you that I don't completely despise, it's how you never break a promise."

"Oh." Harry wasn't expecting that. "Well. Okay. I'm not good at the taking care of kids thing, though."

"The others can do that. Just make sure they don't leave her alone somewhere, or ignore her, or make her sad ever. And she can buy whatever she wants if you go somewhere. I'll reimburse you. Just take care of her. Please," he added, very uncomfortable.

"Okay. But why did you have to tell me that right now, early in the morning, on a weekend?" Harry said, trying not to be annoyed.

"Because he's in the Headmaster's office right now."

"Wait. What? Why?"

"When you were me, my grades weren't as perfect as usual, and my father found out. It's not a big deal, I can excuse it. I just don't understand why he'd do show up on such short notice. So I'm planning ahead." Draco's tone was very businesslike, but Harry could still tell he was very concerned.

"Well, I promise. Other people care for her, too, though. Like the twins, and Hermione, and Ginny."

Draco made a face. "Right. Because I should really trust them. I have so many reasons to."

"But you do, actually. They've stood up for you just as much as I have when some of the other kids say that you're just trying to infiltrate my friends or something. Ginny fought off the Parvati twins simultaneously when they said you didn't really care about Abbie," Harry said. That example was most recent in his mind – it had happened just the other day.

Draco looked surprised. "Really? Ginny?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason." His deadpan was impressive. "So I'm leaving her in your hands. Collectively, all of yours."

"Where is she?" Harry looked around the common room. Before Draco answered, he saw another head of white-blonde hair. There was Abbie, lying asleep on the couch, dwarfed by its soft pillows.

"She usually wakes up in a few minutes. I need to go before she sees me. I can't explain..." Abruptly, Draco broke off his sentence. "Thank you," he began again. "For helping me. I'll let you know what's going on." Without another word, he walked away, slipping out through the portrait hole gracefully.

Sighing, Harry went and sat next to the girl on the couch. People were still giving him dirty looks, so Harry sent back a few glares before putting his arm around her. He thought maybe he should put his arm around her, but worried that might wake her up, so he didn't.

"Draco really cares about you, you know," he whispered to her. "What did you do to him? And can you teach me to?" He smiled. "I think he's really a nice guy. Don't tell him I said that."

He was beginning to get some odd looks from the other kids, so Harry stopped talking to her and decided to just wait. He curled up on the couch and almost fell back asleep, except Abbie woke up. Anxiously, she patted his shoulder until he opened his eyes, then spelled something into his hand. Harry had quite a bit of trouble trying to figure out what she was trying to say, but finally, after a very slow iteration from Abbie, who was doing her best to be patient, he got it. _Where's Draco?_

Harry felt very stupid. Of course that was what she'd ask. "His father is here, he has to deal with him. He's fine, though, don't worry."

After another long process, Harry got her next question. _When will he come back? Why did he leave me?_

"Malfoy's dad isn't nice. He's mean, and so Draco's going to come back after he makes his dad leave. Until then you'll be with us, okay?"

Abbie nodded, her eyes large and solemn, looking very young.

Suddenly, Harry hoped Draco would be back soon, or at least that someone else would wake up. He really wasn't good with children.


End file.
